#I watched chefs table some time ago so...

[moonwoodhollow]

Meet this year's chefs-in-residence at Green Hill at Bagley Barns! (from upper left to lower right): Gina Wilson, a Henford on Bagley native will be our new junior saucier with a passion for local ingredients and the farm-to-table concept. Magnus Broderson our new fermentation expert gained his previous experience at Nöma, Aurora Skies' most famous fine dining restaurant and we cannot wait to taste his signature lacto-ferments. Michael Pollard, already a rising star in his hometown of Del Sol Valley will be filling in the position of junior sous chef for this year. Michael has an impressively long portfolio of top restaurants in which he worked and his creativity in recipe development is unrivaled. Fatma Mohammadi our pastry chef from Al Simhara will enchant you with her sweet creations, as she did before in various restaurants and patisseriés all over the simglobe. Next month's menu will be exclusively planned by our new chefs, so be sure to reserve a table on our website! -> next

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went. 

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street. 

None came. 

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift. 

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something. 

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time. 

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen. 

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door. 

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back. 

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem. 

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too. 

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him. 

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink. 

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down. 

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring. 

“What?” Eddie was staring back. 

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you. 

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it. 

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables. 

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have. 

It was becoming harder to lie. 

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles. 

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed. 

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before. 

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead. 

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond. 

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

 Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise. 

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief. 

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say. 

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.” 

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you. 

You told it to shut up. 

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it.  “We’re friends, huh?” 

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing. 

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own. 

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

 That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had.  “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face. 

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially. 

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips. 

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly. 

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing. 

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering. 

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy. 

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly. 

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too. 

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly. 

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb. 

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair. 

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his. 

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie. 

Your forehead touched his. 

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more. 

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie. 

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans. 

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim. 

Touching. Still touching. 

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft. 

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high. 

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it. 

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?” 

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners. 

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘���cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely. 

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night. 

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head. 

You wondered if you should’ve said something.  

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate. 

[realisticfanfictions]

Being Sanji's Girlfriend & Baratie's Head Waitress.

Sanji x Waitress!Reader

Working at Baratie wasn't without its challenges, and the fights that sprung up because of them weren't rare either. You and your boyfriend never sweated the small stuff, after all working in a high stress environment made you, well, stressed. But maybe some things can't be resolved that easily.

Tags: Sanji x Reader, Waitress!Reader, constant bickering, mostly fluff with some angst, (heavy) swearing.

A/N: I love the Waitress!Reader so much for OPLA, so I've decided to do another one! I had to split this up into multiple parts, cause this ended up being a bit long. (Link to part two.)

Word Count is 4,829. Hope you enjoy!

"Where the fuck are my entrees?!" Your voice echoed in the enclosed space, cutting through the melodic and rhythmic sounds of frying, chopping and other things that went on in a kitchen. You brushed past another waitress who wisely got out of your way, your heels clicking against the tiles as you marched up to the pass and slammed your copy of the meal ticket down. "Chef!" You called out, pushing back a strand of your hair as you scanned the chefs who were cooking at a ferocious pace. You locked eyes with an unfortunate new chef, but despite him immediately looking at his feet and trying to walk by, you reached through the window and pulled him by the collar. "Who the hell is on entrees?" He stumbled over his words and you groaned in frustration at his pathetic attempt at the English language.

"That's me." You pushed him back and looked past the cowering chef at the man who had just spoken up, your boyfriend and the love of your life, Sanji. His normally pressed and tidy chef attire was in disarray with his shirt untucked and his sleeves stained with various sauces. He sounded hoarse and was covered in a thin layer of sweat as he cooked some type of meat, flipping it over in the pan to cook it evenly. Intense concentration was etched into his face and the way he scrunched his nose was adorable, but right now you couldn't think of anything else but punching it.

You opened your mouth to speak, but a nearby busboy ran in front of you and you snarled at him. "Watch it, asshole!" You refocused your attention back on the blonde in front of you. "I have thirty-eight tables out there with at least four head a table, and only two waitresses working the floor-!"

He shook his head and his pan aggressively hit the stove top each time he moved it. "You know, it sounds so hard to look pretty and run around in heels all night, but I actually have a real job-"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really. And I'd appreciate it if I didn't have you bitching in my ear all night!" He threw some butter in the pan and began to bast the meat.

"Then maybe, if you were actually good at your 'real job'," You said with quotation marks. "Then you'd tell me why the shit it takes thirty-five goddamn minutes for a premade french onion soup!"

He whipped around with a laddle in his hand and he marched over to the pass. You both bent down to see each other through the window. "Hey, if I had any fucking help around here I would have gotten that to you twenty minutes ago, but I'm stuck here-"

"And here we go!" You exclaimed as you threw up your hands dramatically and walked through the swinging doors. You avoided Pattie walking out with a tray of fresh bread and popped on an apron attached to a nearby hook.

"-with my thumb up my arse because apparently no one knows how to plate a damn steak in this kitchen!" He moved around you as you took his place, grabbing the offending meat and placing it atop of the mashed potatoes.

Annoyed, you grabbed the garnish. "Well, where the hell's the plating station?"

Sanji came back and unceremoniously dropped a large stock pot next to you. He bent down to look you in the eye and threw his hands up in the air. "He quit."

Your eyes widened and followed him as he walked to the other side of you and started plating beside you. "He what?"

"He fucking quit! Just like every other bitch who couldn't handle Tuesdays at the Baratie." His brows furrowed and he let out a small shout of frustration. "Whoever the fuck did the halibut, refry it!" He yelled as he set it off to the side. "Just 'cause we're busy doesn't mean you can push out a shit and pass it off as fine dining!"

You plated another order and put it under the heat lamp at the pass, then rang the bell, but no one came. "And we're short-staffed on waitresses too!" You exclaimed and spotted the busboy from before, "Oi! You! Get off your ass and start serving!" You threw your ticket-book and pen at him, which he barely caught from where he was sitting.

"B-But I'm washing dishes-!"

You dramatically gestured around. "We aren't even sending anything out, so unless you've been storing them up your rectum, what fucking dishes are you washing?!" You grabbed the french onion soup in the stock pot that Sanji had given you and quickly poured it into three bowls laced with garnish on top. "Take these to 12, and the steak to 24. Tell 12 that they'll get a free dessert in about twenty minutes. Well? Get a move on! You aren't getting paid to sit there and look pretty, 'cause you sure as hell ain't fucking pretty!" He scrambled to pick them up and he quickly ran out of the kitchen.

"That turned me on more than I'd like to admit." Sanji appeared beside you with another plate and rang the service bell. "If we weren't busy I'd kiss you, darling." He exclaimed as he grabbed a handful of garnish and placed it atop of the plate.

"Oi, fuckface." When he looked over, you quickly pressed a kiss to his lips and grabbed the metal tray of halibut. "Now, let's get these pretentious pricks fed!"

You both worked side by side, barking orders at each other and bickering over every little thing you could - even Zeff yelled at you both to shut up. But it worked. Within minutes, you both had worked through the back orders and finally got to a point where you weren't struggling to complete orders from guests who'd been waiting for hours. When the last table left, you and Sanji just about collapsed. Leaning against the cool wall tile with you by his side, he sighed. "That was definitely one of our busiest days," He said with pure relief that it was finally over.

You couldn't remain standing and slid down the wall, your high heels clicking as you sat down. "Yeah, who knew so many people would wanna celebrate Father's Day?" You replied sarcastically, but a playful smile told your boyfriend that you weren't being mean. He softly chuckled and followed suit, sliding down the wall until he reached the floor with a groan.

He pulled out his cigarettes. "I've earned one of these." He says as he puts it between his lips and waits for you to light it. You roll your eyes and oblige, taking out your lighter and lighting the end of it for him. He took a slow drag, closed his eyes, savoured it, and then exhaled out the smoke.

"You almost make lung cancer look sexy." You remarked with a grin, and he returned it with his own charming, beautiful smile.

His eyes slowly flicked up and down. "And you always make yelling and shouting look so sexy." He licked his lips and leaned in, giving you a kiss that lingered. Your eyes fluttered shut and you enjoyed the small respite from the craziness you had both just experienced. Even when the kiss eventually ended, neither one of you moved away. "Are you working tonight?" He asked under his breath.

You sighed and pecked his lips. "In two hours."

"Till?"

"Four."

"Shit."

"I know." You pressed your lips against his once more and moved some hair out of his face. "But, I'm not working tomorrow so we can sleep in."

He sighed. "I start at nine tomorrow."

"Till?"

"Six."

"Shit."

"I know." You both quietly laughed and pressed your noses together, then rubbed them together while stealing kisses and giggling like you used to when you were kids.

You'd been at the Baratie ever since you were fifteen, and you'd been dating Sanji since you were sixteen. It wasn't really something you both had officially decided on, nor did either one of you do this big, elaborate confession that made both of you ugly-cry. It happened slowly over time. Many customers and fellow staff would constantly tease you both with things like, "Where's your girlfriend, Sanji?" and, "Aw! You both are so cute together!" At first you both denied it, but eventually you just... stopped correcting people. You were each other's first kiss, first love... first love, and despite how it looks from the outside, you couldn't be happier.

"Oi, Sanji." You called out as you leaned closer to the mirror to focus on your eyeshadow. "Be careful, there's been a lot of pirate activity lately. They might stop by, so Zeff has officially-unofficially instated a no-tolerance policy for- Sanji!" You laughed when your boyfriend wrapped his arms around you and you struggled to do your makeup while Sanji hung off of you and pressed kisses along your cheek. "You toad! You're going to ruin my smokey eye."

He playfully moaned. "But you're so sexy," He whined and pulled back enough to give you puppy eyes. "And you shouldn't work tonight if there's pirates anyway."

"I still have to work." You replied, giving up on doing your makeup and stealing a quick kiss from him. "I'm the head of front-of-house, I can't just ring up Zeff and say, 'hey, your son wants to sleep with me so I can't come in today!'"

"No, you can't." At the sound of his voice, you looked up to see that your boss had entered you and Sanji's shared room. He would have seen the neatly pressed and ironed button-downs wrapped around hangers, and two mismatching pairs of high heels strewn about the floor. His eyes met yours. "We have a full house of rich, but important pricks tonight, and I need all hands on deck. If someone calls in sick, drag them out of bed if you have to."

Your boyfriend pouted playfully. "But she never gets any time off, can't we just-"

"(Y/N) is our head of house, she's too important to lose tonight." Zeff straightened up and crossed his arms over. "Little Eggplant, you can't distract (Y/N) from doing her job. Unlike you, she has to work to stay here." The old man looked over at you and you nodded, you knew that you were a staff member first and foremost - being the girlfriend of his adopted son was second to that.

Sanji's smile tightened, and he stood up. "I know." His blue eyes flashed with something that you meant he wanted to say something but didn't. His smile returned when he looked at you. "I'll see you in the morning."

As he brushed past Zeff and walked out of the room, you furrowed your eyebrows at your boss and father figure. "Now that's one way to get him pissed off at you." The words came out a little more aggressive than you meant to, but you didn't bother correcting yourself.

He sighed and turned to leave. "Leave it alone, (Y/N)."

"And one way to get me pissed off at you too." You dropped your eyeshadow onto the table and followed after him. His wide frame took up quite a bit of space in the hallway, but you squeezed past him to block his path.

Zeff groaned when he saw you and squeezed the bridge of his nose, then released it to gesture while he spoke. "(Y/N), I apologise if you felt offended. You're a part of our family, and--"

"I don't care about that." You scoffed in disbelief and gawked at his lack of social awareness. "You must be really thick in the skull if you think I'm upset about that."

His face scrunched up. "Then what are you upset about? Hm? What are you upset about now?" He gestured behind you. "I have dinner service to prep for," He started to list off on his fingers. "I have a team of flaky waitresses-your team of flaky waitresses to deal with, and I need to make sure that we have enough lamb being delivered for our special tonight. So what could it possibly be that is so important you're holding me up for?"

You counted to five in your head before opening your mouth to speak. "I love him. And I don't give a rat's ass that you sign my paycheck, or give me a roof over my head. You don't make Sanji, my boyfriend and your son, feel shitty just because you think it'll toughen him up. And you certainly don't use me to do that." You keep your gaze locked onto his. "You ever do that again? I walk." You stepped backward and straightened up. "I'll get the team ready for service."

You never regretted what you said. Was your tone harsher than it should've been? Yes, but you needed to get your point across to him. There wasn't any time to think about it though, because it was Friday night and thirty minutes before opening - you didn't have the time to regret what you said.

"Ladies!" You called out, then smiled. "And Sapi." Said fishman smiled at your acknowledgement as your team of staff gathered around to form a semi-circle in front of you. You held up your checklist. "We have fifteen V.I.P tables tonight. I expect everyone to be on their best behaviour. That means no frowning, no blowing your nose on the customer's napkins, and no- oh my God, Macy. If you don't shut the fuck up." The red-lipped, pigtail-wearing waitress jolted back from where she was gossiping with another waitress. You raise your brows at her as if to ask if she was done and rolled your eyes. "And no unprofessionalism." You finished with a glare.

Spai cleared his throat. "How many free tables do we have tonight?"

You looked back at the clipboard and flipped over the page, counting quietly to yourself. "There's two at seven and one at eight. The two at seven are one and eight, and the one at eight is seven. One can be for eight, but don't offer seven to under six because seven and six are over eight. Got it?"

The room was quiet for a moment, and Sapi slowly blinked. "May I have a copy of that, please?"

"I'll bring one to your station," You looked around. "Any questions?" Silence. "Good. Now, put on your fakest smile and happy ga-ga voice - we've got a line of ships waiting to be fed!"

"Let's do this, team!" Macy's voice screeched out and she was met with silence.

You exhaled gruffly and squeezed the bridge of your nose. "Macy, I swear to- let's do this, team!" This time, it was met with a round of cheer as they dispersed to familiarise themselves with their tables for the night.

A pleased sigh escaped you, content with your small but mighty team that you had managed to drag out of bed to work the floor. A glance to the suspiciously blank specials menu made you curse under your breath. You were going to have to talk to Zeff to get tonight's specials. With a defeated sigh, you clipped your pen to your shirt and sucked in a deep breath, before making your way to the kitchen where it sounded like food preparations were already underway.

"...and get those lamb in the cold room!" Zeff's voice was apparent the second you walked through those doors. The kitchen was a mess of people marching backwards and forwards like ants while Zeff, their queen, barked orders as they passed by. You thought about just turning around and pretending that the fight had never happened in the first place, but the old man spotted you and waved you over with a finger. "What can I get you, Sprout?" You breathed out a sigh of relief, hearing his nickname for you was like a wave of fresh air.

You straightened up and grabbed your pen. "Hey geezer, what's the specials tonight?"

He waited for you to finish writing "Specials" across the top of your sheet of paper. "We have Lobster Thermidor paired with the 1500s Chardonnay, or a White Burgundy if they snub the Chardonnay. Then we have classic Red-Wine Braised Lamb Shanks that you can pair with any Grenache you find." He slid a piece of paper to you. "These are the prices. I only want you handling checks tonight."

Out of sheer habit, you slipped the piece of paper into your bra. "Why's that?"

"Because someone messed up the till last night, and I want someone I can trust running it."

That made your heart clench. You sighed. "Look, Zeff," You started and lowered your clipboard. "I'm sorry for stepping out of line earlier. I was angry. Sanji was trying to get some 'us' time because we haven't even been awake at the same time for the last couple months. And when we have it's been with me running the floor and him- you know what I mean. Look, I'd never walk out on you, Zeff."

His face, as always, was blank, but you can tell he was processing what you had just said. He was quiet, but then he nodded. "Get those specials on the board. We open in ten." You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, then turned around. "Don't fuss, little brussel sprout."

A smile wormed its way onto your face and you looked over your shoulder at him. "Fussin' ain't worth fussing over. Isn't that what you say?" You barely dodged an incoming head of lettuce.

"Good evening, welcome to the Baratie. My name is (Y/N), can I get you started with some drinks tonight?" You were a natural at this. It didn't matter if you were having an "anti-person day", as Sanji called it, there was no denying that you had talent.

The man with soft, pink hair hummed and looked over the menu. His brass knuckles glistening under the dim lighting of the restaurant. "What are your specials for the night?"

A polite smile went a long way. "The chef has prepared for you a selection of the most wonderful meals made only from the finest and freshest ingredients in the Ease Blue. We have Lobster Thermidor paired with a Chardonnay that I find adds a bit of a fruity, uplifting compliment to the meal. And we have our high-in-demand Lamb Shanks braised in a nice red wine, and paired with only the best Grenache you can find for miles." You didn't bother telling him that it was the same Grenache you had found in the back of the freezer from four months ago.

"That sounds lovely, and what is the cost?"

You quietly hissed and looked over at the beautiful blonde who was sitting across from him, then leaned in to whisper. "I find it's best not to discuss such things on a date. You wouldn't want her to think she isn't worth it, right?"

Well, that certainly worked. He slowly looked between you and his date, who smiled sweetly and encircled the rim of her glass with her perfectly manicured french tips. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "You're right. We'll take one of each, and I'll have to rely on you for what pairs best."

You took the menu he offered with a smile and a nod. "Very well sir, I hope you two enjoy yourselves. Our bar is open all night." And with a wink, you danced away to the kitchen to place 'his' order. It was easy with men like that. All you had to do was dangle their woman's respect in front of them and they'd eat shit just to keep her smiling. But despite the monotony of it at times, you met a lot of interesting people from different backgrounds. You gave a small wave at the man at table two, a regular who had just come back from his royal ballet tour appearance and was with his rich, aristocrat girlfriend, who he said wasn't feeling well.

An set of voices, loud and uncouth, came from above and you stopped to cast a glance upwards. They were... pirates? Well, Zeff did say that they'd been more active around this area as of late, so it wasn't that much of a surprise - especially since there was already a couple tables of them. Sapi looked a little overwhelmed, so you sighed and grabbed a nearby waitress. "Could you take an order to the kitchen for me? It's table three with the two specials, two too. The man at two in the tutu wants it blue, but not at two with Ms. Sue in the red shoes. She has a touch of the flu, so any red meat or roux will make her spew. Got it?"

She blinked. "I think so?"

You patted her on the shoulder and briskly floated up the stairs with as much grace as a head waitress could muster. Their conversation slowly grew louder and you were able to hear some of their conversation. "My apologies, but I don't accept money for-"

"Is there something I can help you with?" At your words, the group looked over and Sapi, who had been trying to refuse some berri the orange-haired woman was offering him, visibly relaxed.

"Nothing is the matter, this group was just leaving." He answered and looked at them to see if they got the hint. The woman sighed in defeat and pocketed her cash. You looked over at the two young men leant against the railing staring into the restaurant below, they were very excited and looked as if they hadn't eaten a proper meal for a few days.

With your mind set, you glanced over at the time, then straightened up and smiled. "You know what? It's seven, so I believe we might have a booth available if that's suitable for your needs?"

She smiled and breathed out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, here-"

You held up a hand before she could reach into her pocket. "Save that for your meal." With a quick nod to Sapi, you stepped aside and gestured toward the staircase. "Follow me." The man with green hair and three swords rubbed you the wrong way almost the second you laid eyes on him, and you could tell he felt the same way. It was almost a sense of mutual familiarity. But you broke off eye contact to lead the rest of this strange, rambunctious crew further into the Baratie. "The Baratie was established by our current owner Zeff, and we recently celebrated our tenth anniversary."

The boy in the straw hat gawked at everything he saw and heard you say, and smiled brightly. "This place looks like it serves good food!"

That brought a smile to your face. "It does," You said as you guided them to their booth amidst other pirates and similar rough-looking guests. "And I don't just say that because my boyfriend's the sous chef."

"Are you sure about that?" The guy in a pirate costume asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief and laughing along with his young friend.

You smiled along and shook your head. "I'll let you guys get settled in and will return in about five minutes with a menu. Please enjoy the music." With a few friendly waves and a "see you in a bit!" from the straw hat boy, you turned and walked toward the back of the room to collect a few menus.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and your boyfriend appeared looking more than a bit annoyed. You didn't even think he was on the line tonight, but your attention was drawn to two men who had began to cause a bit of a ruckus. You weren't close enough to hear what was being said, but you tucked the menus under your armpit and darted toward the pair that were now being consoled by Sanji. "...we don't waste food, and there's no fighting at the Baratie." You slowed your walk toward them and continued at a crawl. The man you had served not that long ago was dealing with a rowdy pirate. You heard something that sounded like a threat and Sanji spoke up again, his voice cutting through the argument before it had the chance to escalate. "And I'd like to pour you each a glass of Ithürzburger Stein. On the house."

The pirate nodded. "Okay, I'll have that drink." His brows furrowed and his voice grew irrate. "After he apologies for his bad manners!"

"Over my dead body." That was certainly the wrong answer. With a growl, they both lunged for each other and you sped toward them, watching as Sanji, in a blur, flipped over the table and kicked each of them.

The pink haired man grunted and got back up on his feet, drawing his gun but then froze when he felt something cold dig into his back. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." You warned, shoving your own gun into his back and whispered in his ear. "Drop it." Like the coward he was, he did and you effortlessly slammed the butt of your weapon into his temple - knocking him out cold.

You motioned for a nearby waitress to deal with the unconscious men, then snapped your attention to Sanji who picked up his plate of scones and continued his walk. "No cause for alarm, folks. Please, enjoy your meals." He called out and you quickly pocketed your gun back into your thigh-holster, smoothing out your dress and turning to the waitress who had arrived at your side.

After gesturing for her to take them out the back door, you readjusted yourself and quickly walked up to Sanji's side who's forced smile made you tilt your head in confusion. He shook his head, he didn't want to talk about it just yet. You both made the few steps over to the table you had just seated and, despite his mood, he set down the plate with his usual grace. "Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?" While he spoke, you placed down some menus and tried to ignore the straw hat boy who was currently stuffing his face full of our complimentary scones.

The woman grabbed a menu from you with a smile, but the others had their eyes locked onto Sanji. "One of everything, please!" The straw hat boy called out without taking a look at the menu you had walked twenty feet in high heels to collect.

"Any drinks?" Your boyfriend offered as he shoved his hands into his pocket, unconsciously looking for his packet of smokes that you knew he couldn't light. You briefly wondered if you should offer him a smoke break to calm him down. "One of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal?"

"Giving us the hard sell, huh?" She asked as she slowly lowered her menu and you found it increasingly harder not to smack the blond.

And, as usual, his entire demeanour changed. "Apologies, madam. I didn't see you there. Would you care for an aperitif to start? We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock. Or perhaps you'd like a glass of Umeshu? You know, something sweet-" He winked. "-for someone sweet."

"Something wrong with your eye?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat. "No, but there is something wrong with his head if he thinks he can flirt with another girl in front of his girlfriend."

That garnered a few giggles, snickers and mock gasps from the table. Sanji chuckled and turned to you. "I hope I'm not in the doghouse tonight?" He pulled you in and gave you a quick kiss on your cheek, but you waved him off.

"We'll see." You shot him a not-so-serious warning look and focused back on the table. "Sorry about that, did I hear you were after some drinks?"

The green-haired male looked you up and down, faint recognition in his eyes as he cleared his throat. "Can I get a beer and something for my friends?"

The pirate-costumed man spoke up. "Two beers. I usually have three, but-"

"And a milk!"

You scribbled down their orders, and Sanji's hand crept around your waist. "Three beers and a milk. And, uh, for madam?"

"Water."

"Still, sparking, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?"

You stopped writing and slowly looked up to your boyfriend. "...Taken, Sanji." You reminded him and he stared back at you innocently.

Even the woman leaned back in confusion. "Regular water, in a regular glass. Thanks."

"Right away." He said with a wistful expression, and with the roll of your eyes, you dragged him away before he made a further fool of himself.

AN: Sorry about ending it there, but it was getting WAY too long and I figured it'd be easier to break it up into multiple pieces rather than having one solid chunk of 12k words. Or however long this fic ends up being. I'm actually kinda digging it, so I may continue to write it for a while! Also, I have no idea how old Sanji is meant to be in this universe? According to the internet (and the massive reddit fight I accidentally spawned) it's a tossup between 19 and 26 (OP Sanji's vs the actor's actual age.)

I also hope you appreciate the word-puns. I don't know why but I really enjoy writing them and love to include them in my writing-

[archangeldyke-all]

Ciao amore, just finished writing down an idea for fake hating with sevika. Not fake dating- fake hating. Sevika and reader being all like enemies in public, but then behind closed doors 🤭🤭

Would love to see you do something with this as well bc I know your take is just gonna be 😚🤌🏽 chefs kiss good fr

I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS

men and minors dni

'the last drop' and 'the eye of zaun' have been in a feud for years.

one is owned by vander, one is owned by silco. they've been trying to put each other out of business since their bitter divorce five years ago. the two bars sit across the street from one another, and the owners live in the apartments on top, their four children swapping homes every week.

a lot of locals take the feud really seriously-- there are frequent brawls in the middle of the street when patrons cross paths. vander's customers are all 'old farts', and silco's are all 'trendy punks,' so there's always some kind of issue that's got both bars up in arms and upset.

you try not to get involved. you just keep your head down, wipe down tables, and collect tips.

if you'd known that the man interviewing you was in some kind of lifelong psycho-sexual feud with his ex-husband, you wouldn't have taken the fucking job-- but here you are.

the door to the last drop slams open and you jump, turning around to watch vander storm into the bar. "i'm gonna fuckin' kill him!" he shouts.

at the bar where she's eating maraschino cherries by the handful, jinx scoffs. "you say that every day, pops."

"you tell your father that if he ever tries to steal my fucking cocktail napkins again i'll strangle him." vander huffs. then he turns, and points at you. "rookie." he grunts.

you roll your eyes. "yeah?"

"go across the street and steal all their toilet paper. jinx, go with her."

"i got homework, pops!" jinx groans, desperate for any reason to get out of her dads' constant scheming.

"fine, go alone. take it all!" he demands.

you just shrug and prop your broom up, happy to have a reason to take a break. you'll take a roll or two, but leave enough for the customers to wipe their asses. you're not a monster.

sneaking into the eye of the city is easy, thieram gives just as many fucks about the feud as you do-- which is none. you grab a trashbag from the janitor's closet, then head into the womens' room, ready to begin your thievery.

you get about three rolls in your trash bag before the door swings open, and sevika bursts into laughter.

"what're you doing?" she asks.

you smile from where you're breaking into the next toilet paper dispenser. "you guys stole our napkins? so we're taking your toilet paper. don't worry, i left the stash in the janitor's closet there for you." you say.

sevika snorts and flicks the bolt on the women's room, helping you off the ground and pulling her in your arms. "hey, baby." she greets.

you smile and kiss her lips. "hi, sev." you whisper.

"it's gonna be a long fucking night for us. it's their anniversary." she says.

you groan, burying your head against your girlfriend's shoulder.

you didn't mean to fall in love with your should-be nemisis, what with sevika being silco's bartender and you being vander's. but-- neither of you have any personal stakes in the beef, and your attraction was impossible to deny, and one night as the two of you were trying to impress your respective bosses by shit talking one another, you ended up charming each other, making one another laugh at the insults you threw either way-- and by the time your bosses were leaving to pick the kids up from their after school activities, you and sevika were exchanging numbers.

and now, you're in love, and you're trying your very best not to let anyone know.

"it's surprising that the kids are all so well-adjusted given how stupid their dads are." you mumble. sevika laughs.

"you crashing at mine after work tonight or should i go to yours?"

"depends on what you want for dinner. yours is closer to that chinese place, but we could get italian if we go to mine."

"ooh, fuck, pasta sounds so fucking good. let's go to yours." sevika says. you smile and kiss her lips.

"sounds like a date, baby." you giggle.

just as you're about to leave her arms and head to the men's room to complete your stealth mission, the handle starts to rattle.

"who is it?" sevika calls, panicked.

"i gotta pee!" jinx calls through the door.

"it's not your week here!" sevika screams. she looks at you with a wild expression, both of you trying to figure out an alibi to explain toe jinx why you're locked in a bathroom together.

"pops ran outta cherries so i came here for more. lemme in!" she squeals.

sevika huffs, shrugs helplessly, kisses your cheek, then throws you over her shoulder. you yelp, and start struggling in her grasp.

she throws the door open and glares down at jinx. "i caught this rat spying on the last drop! stealing all our toilet paper!" she growls, jostling you on her shoulder. you muffle your giggles with your hand.

"lemme go you asshole!" you whine, wiggling in her arms, pinching her ass a bit. she jumps, and you bite back your grin.

"ugh, i don't care!" jinx whines. "get outta my way, i gotta go!" she shoves sevika to the side, then runs into the bathroom.

sevika sets you back down in the center of the bar.

"quick thinking." you giggle. sevika's still blushing from the pinch you'd gotten in on her ass, and you kiss her pink cheek. "see you later, baby." you whisper just as silco pushes into the bar.

you jump away from sevika, sprinting out of the bar like you're making a great getaway, and she chases after you, screaming to silco about your horrible theft.

vander berates you for only managing to steal three rolls, but you smile for the rest of the night.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re

@raphaellearp

[blingblong55]

Good times-141

Photo credit: @ave661

Based on a request: Hi! I hope you're enjoying your weekend and fully rested <3 Is it okay to make a short blurb request of TF141 trying out SEA (South East Asian) food (i.e., fried rice, chicken rice, tom yam soup etc..) made by gn!eader? - sort of their reaction  Feel free to ignore this if it doesnt interest you :) <3  Have a great day ahead, thank you :3 ---- GN!Reader, something short, platonic?relationship ----

A/N: I really love making short, simple fics, so..thank you

The team always complained about the food on base. Chow Hall always had food, but not good enough after a long day of work. A week ago, Gaz found you eating in your office, the scent was too good to not ask about but with one look in his eyes, you sighed and nodded. 4 days later, you found yourself filling out paperwork to leave the base, buy some ingredients and then cooking the food without hurting the feelings of those in charge of chow hall. 

With a day's worth of preparation, by day 6, you had all you needed to feed the hungry men you call family. 

Price once mentioned that he and the team, before you had joined, had a mission in East Asia. He mentioned bonding over the food at some restaurants. It's from where you wanted to feed them dumplings, kimchi-jigae, tteokbokki (for Soap because he loved it so much the first time), mochi for Ghost, the tasty hotpot for Price because he loves it so much and for Gaz, ais kacang. 

The plan was perfect, but keeping it a secret was hard. You knew you wanted to surprise them for dinner, especially after the tough call they had that day. 

By the end of the day, you summoned them to the common room. A round table, cosy chairs and food welcomed them. "Ta-da!" you smile as you watch their reactions. Soap was the first to notice the food you had made and went immediately to hug you. Gaz and Ghost noticed rather later and Price smiled when he knew where this idea came from. 

It was a gesture from the heart and a way to thank them for the past months. 

When they all sat down, you watched them eagerly eat the food. It was a nice change for once. Ghost even took his mask off, a rare event, but he did it and ate comfortably. 

Gaz and Soap began with the jokes, adding more each time which was followed by loud laughter and sighs from the team. Price devoured the hotpot, addressing you as a master chef whenever he could, became normal through the night. He even let you have a cigar and you will sure brag about it later on. Gaz adored ais kacang, the desert you had served when all was eaten and enjoyed. He made sure to put his arm around you and compliment the taste of it all, adding more hums each time he ate some more. 

When it came to Soap and tteokbokki, no one could fight his mouth off it. He did fight Gaz for the last piece, which certainly made you feel better about your cooking skills. kimchi-jigae was the ultimate favourite of Ghost, apart from his beloved mochi. He always made sure you knew he'd expect this again if he let you skip field practice every other time. 

By the end of the night, you sat back, drank some beer and watched a wholesome scene. Price was right, just eating, and talking about anything is what truly makes food delicious. It'll be a memory to take for years to come. 

It's nice to think that from sneaking ingredients into the base it all leads to this, sitting down, drinking and eating with your best mates as they try to convince you that their so-called good ideas back in Asia were not bad at all. 

Tags: @liyanahelena

[a-whisper-in-the-forest]

Dinner

Part 1 (Happy)

Villain follows the Child to a nice neighborhood in the city. Nothing crazy expensive like the Villain's penthouse, but comfortable. It looks very different in daylight. They hadn't even noticed the little park next to the apartment complex before. It probably wasn't illuminated at night. “This way!” The Child says cheerfully. They have been practically skipping the whole way. Villain sees the door that leads to Hero's apartment. Why did they feel nervous? They have been here before.

The Child opens the door and the smell of a warm dinner hits their nose. They both come inside and take their shoes off. The Child immediately grabs Villain's arm and drags them to the kitchen. “Sibling, look who I found!” Hero is standing in the kitchen, their hair still wet from the shower. They're wearing sweatpants and a bandage is visible under their sleeve. “Oh, Child, please. No more rabid street animals,” Hero says, exhausted. Their voice lacks their usual enthusiasm that make their fights so much more entertaining. “Ouch….” Villain huffs. “That's not really friendly, is it?”

Hero whips around, a horrified expression plastered on their face. “Hi, darling,” Villain says with a smug grin on their face.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Hero yells out, pointing the spatula in their hand at Villain. “I invited them over for dinner!” Child gleems as they start taking plates out of one of the drawers. “Why? You know that's Villain right? The bad guy I warned you about?” Hero's voice is going so high that only dogs are going to be able to hear it in a minute. “Yeah, that's Villain. They helped you, remember?” Child says innocently. They truly don't see anything wrong with this. Villain finds it adorable. Hero lets out a deep sigh. “Child, please don't tell me that when you asked me how to thank someone and i told you to cook them some food, you meant thanking Villain?”

“Obviously, who else would I thank?” The Child says, having moved on to putting the glasses on the table. “Oh my god…” Hero sighs, pinching her nose bridge. “Oh my god…” They have to lean against a counter. “Did I teach them nothing?” Villain decides that that's enough panic for the Hero in one day. Their fight already took a lot of energy. “Not to interrupt your self-loathing, darling. But to their defense, I already knew your adres and they are following your advice, so you did teach them something.” Villain takes a step forward. “I was just a bit worried about you so I decided to come along, I can leave as fast as I came in.”

“No!” The Child yells out across the room,“Please don't leave!” Hero sighs again as a response. “Okay, they can stay. But only for dinner.” Hero points a finger towards Child as a warning. They shriek and drag Villain towards a seat at the neatly set table. Villain sits down and watches as Hero brings out a casserole and puts it on the table. Meanwhile Child pulls out a tablet and starts looking for a cartoon to watch.

“It's not made by a private chef, but it'll have to be enough,” Hero says as they sit down across the table, right in front of Villain. “Oh, I fired that chef ages ago. Too much caviar for my taste,” Villain remarks nonchalantly, “That and the poison they wanted to slip into my food.” Hero almost spits their drink out. “They did what?”

Villain shrugs, “I always have to be careful with who I trust. And don't worry, they are dealt with.” Villain stuffs their mouth full. They can't really make out what it is Hero cooked, but it’s still good. “That must be horrifying,” Hero says, taking another bite.

“What?” Villain cocks their head. It was just an assassin from a rival villain, nothing too dangerous. Worse things have been sent their way.

“You know, worrying all the time about not getting killed,” Hero continues. “Well, my dear Hero, I'd rather be dead than locked up in a cell,” Villain answers, “I'm more scared of you than some spy that can't tell his poison from his tea.”

Hero looks shocked. “You're scared of me? You?” Villain takes a sip from their drink, taking a minute to gather their thoughts. How were they going to explain this? “Not necessarily you…but what will happen to me if I get caught,” they answer, picking their fork up again to eat some of the mystery dish. “When,” Hero answers. Villain looks up from their plate. “If,” they counter. “I will catch you one day,” Hero says, a glint of confidence and determination in their eyes. “Oh, but I'm right here, darling.” Villain leans forward while placing a hand under their chin, “Yet you've done nothing about it.”

“That’s because there are children at the table. We have to keep it civil.” Hero says back, leaning forward over the table as well. Villain glances over to the child who's deeply invested in a cartoon on their tablet. “Please don't tell me you're one of those tablet-parents that push a screen towards their child as soon as they make a sound.” Villain gestures towards the Child with their free hand. “One, I am their sibling, not their parent. Two, they have a very strict screen time. It blocks everything as soon as their timer is up,” Hero answers, looking at the Child. “Seems excessive. They seem smart enough to know what's good for them,” Villain says as they lean in even closer. “You both are pretty smart. But unlike them, you don't know what's good for you.” Hero answers, mimicking Villain's movements. “Mmmh,” Villain purrs. “And what is good for me, my dear Hero?”Hero turns to the Child. “Child, don't you have some homework left to do?”

“But…” Child starts to protest but a stern look from Hero quickly shuts that down. They slowly leave the table and pout all the way to what seems to be their room. “So… Why are you really here?” Hero asks Villain, playing with a bracelet around Villain’s wrist. “Child said you've been sad the past few weeks and only cheered up when I left.” Villain says looking in Hero's eyes. They saw an emotion they hadn't noticed before. “That Child worries too much about me,” Hero answers, “But it is true. Work has been a real pain in my ass recently.”

“I could take a few out for you, lighten the workload and all that.” Villain moves their free hand to hold the Hero's empty hand. “While I appreciate the offer, I'm going to have to decline. I can handle myself,” Hero answers, looking Villain in the eyes. “Oh, I am sure you can, darling,” Villain says as they let go of Hero's hand and move to stand up. “I think I better get back. It's starting to get late and I still have some henchmen to beat in Mario kart.”

As Villain moves to walk through the door, they turn around one last time. “If you ever need anything. A favor, money, a good talk. Know I will always be there for you, darling.” They move forward to land a soft peck on Hero's cheek. As soon as the light touch was there, it disappeared. Hero watches as the Villain leaves and desperately tries to suppress the butterflies in their stomach.

Hi! Since a few people asked, here is a second part to 'Happy'! I hope it lives up to your expectations since I have exams and have to write during breaks. (If you see any spelling mistakes, no you didn't :) )

Btw, feel free to make any requests in my asks!

( @demetercabingreen-thumb, @ghostlyexpertlight and @ekira17 asked for a part two) (I can untag you from the post if you'd like, just let me know)

[feralgoblinqueen]

Silly Goose

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

MDNI please and thank you

Warnings: Dirty humor, mentions of masturbation, slightly dark humor if you squint.

A/N: Let me know what you think. All feedback is appreciated since this is the first fic I’ve written and posted for others to read in years.

———

It started when you joined Task Force 141. Price had not considered adding another member to their already reputable team. At least, until your impressive file managed to come across his desk. Most notably the praises of former team and squad mates. You raised the morale of every company you joined as far back as your first deployment. Your previous CO could only sing your praises as Price sat and listened to him over the phone.

It was an easy decision to invite you into the team. It was confirmed to be the right decision a week later when he joined the four of you in the mess. You were in the middle of a story, the whole table captivated.

“So we had spent the last two weeks 40 clicks behind enemy lines. It should have felt like the return to civilization when we rejoined with the company. It didn’t.” Your hands punctuated your words, you were drawing in the attention of even those at surrounding tables.

“By the time we rendezvous with the rest of the company, our supply truck had been hit. Whole company on one meal a day until we could resupply with the rest of the Battalion. I knew my squad had hit its low. Everyone has lost their fight, they weren’t battle ready.” A big, easy smile splayed across your face. Price could feel the build up to the joke as he dug into his food. Him and the rest of the team remained quiet, waiting for what you would say next.

“Soap, what do you think Santa had in her magic rucksack?” You waggled your eyebrows. Their movement already earning a snort from Gaz. Price’s lips quirked up into a smirk.

“Uh… some extra MREs?” Soap was caught off guard by your question but you bounced right off, not drawing attention to his clumsy response.

“Close but no cigar. I’d packed my rucksack full of canned ravioli and porn mags. Nothing quite boosts morale like Chef Boyardee and a combat jack.” The corse words flew out of your mouth. It was evident that you’d served around men for a long time. The humor landing with the group of soldiers. Not only was your table laughing but those listening in around you as well. All except one man.

You had worked out years ago the quickest way to be welcomed by a group was to get them laughing. In school, in bootcamp, and with your newest team. Never making jokes about others or at their expense, that was your number one rule. Well number two rule. The number one rule was don’t eat yellow snow.

You easily joked about your own experiences or shortcomings. Joining the military meant you’d lived a lot of life. Life that was full of good and bad experiences. You made the best of them all and lived to make a joke out of it.

This was the first time in years, however, you’d met someone seemingly unaffected by your charm.

Ghost was stoic and cold. Eyes always watching you behind his balaclava, never showing the slightest hint of amusement. You worked overtime trying to get him to at least chuckle or to see his eyes to crinkle through the holes in his mask. Some sort of sign he at least smiled at your jokes. Any show of humor would do.

It was another meal in the mess hall when you tried again. Soap had mentioned some of the lieutenant’s deadpan and darker jokes. Maybe that was more Ghost’s sense of humor.

“So how are you still single? You’re a laugh a minute and you’re a good lookin lass?” Soap inquired, setting his tray down and taking the seat to your right. Ghost as across from you, shoveling food in where he had raised up his mask.

“Well I think it has to do with my line of work. You know how they say the surest way to a man’s heart is his stomach?” Soap noted the change in your posture. He’d picked up over the past few weeks how you sit up straighter if you were getting ready to go into another joke or funny story.

“Aye, I’ve heard that before.” He replied, a grin already forming on his face.

“Well I’ve found going through the ribcage is a lot faster.” You say pointed a finger gun at Ghost’s chest, as if to drive your point home. Soap sat for a beat before shaking his head.

“That was awful. LT, you been sharing your jokes with her?” He chuckled to himself, returning to the food on his tray.

Once again you stared Ghost down for the slightest tell. You searched his whole body for any sign of a laugh.

Disappointment grew in your gut as he finished his meal and left the table. You huffed, fork moving bits of food around your tray.

What if he just didn’t like you? That didn’t make sense though. Soap was a funny guy and Ghost got along with him just fine. Maybe it was more serious than that. Maybe he didn’t think you were needed on the team. They four of them had been working together for months before you entered the picture. Was it because you were a woman? You’d never had a negative interaction with him. He seemed immune to your banter.

“That face you’re makin’ is scary.” Soap nudged your side. A kind grin softening his features. You shook off your stress, shoving him back enough that his seat scooted.

“Sorry, that’s my default face while I’m waiting to receive more orders from the mothership. Mess hall interferes with the signal.” Humor was how you coped with everything. It’s how you deflected serious conversations. You knew you came off as simple minded and silly but you wouldn’t have risen this high in your career if that’s all there was.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal for you. One person not finding you funny shouldn’t eat at you the way Ghost’s reaction, or more so lack there of, did. You dwelled on it more than you were proud of. Some tender part in the deep recesses of your heart hurt to accept that he may simply not like you. That he only tolerated you professionally because his CO wanted you on the team.

As weeks went by the lieutenant’s response hadn’t changed. Any hope you had left that his reaction was just because you were new was dwindling fast. If only you would look for more than just amusement. You focused in on a sign of a singular emotion that you failed to notice all the others. But his team hadn’t missed it.

Captain Price was the first to notice the change in him. Ghost wasn’t one who usually socialized during meals, at least not on base. Since you joined, however, he’d taken more time eating. He joined in on conversations that weren’t just work related. Johnny noticed this and more, having more time to interact with Ghost than the captain.

Ghost’s eyes rarely leave you if you’re nearby. Upon approach he’ll act like he wasn’t watching you every move, usually picking up conversation with whoever he’s with or checking his watch. Soap had teased him for it on multiple occasions but Ghost always plays it off that he’s keeping an eye on how you’re adjusting.

No the team certainly hadn’t missed Simon’s big fat crush on their resident silly goose.

———

You sat on the couch of the AirBnB, watching Ghost talk on the phone with Captain Price. The two of you had been sent to observe a target who was fencing weapons for a terrorist organization. It had been a week and you had managed to find the opportunity to tap his phone calls and laptop. Besides that it was just a bunch of watching who comes and goes from his house across the street.

“Price is calling it. Nobody besides him has came or went from the house all week. We’ve planted our bugs so Lazwell can keep an eye on his digital footprint. There’s not much else for us to do here. We’ll leave at 0700 and no watch tonight.” Ghost announced, relaxing into the other end of the couch.

You nodded, turning your attention back to the TV. The only conversations you’d had the entire mission were work related. The voice of doubt in the back of your mind telling you that Ghost would only dislike you more if you tried the usual shenanigans without the buffer of the others around. The mission had kept you occupied but now that you had the night off that pit of anxiety deep in your gut came seeping back in.

You wanted to ease yourself by making a joke. You worked your bottom lip between your teeth. A normal person would make mundane conversation. Talk about the weather or ask if Ghost wanted to change the channel from the awful 90s sitcom. Anything to lift the awkward silence you felt.

Finally it came bursting out. You’d let your guard down just enough that the old habit slipped through.

“Hey Ghost, what’s red and bad for your teeth?”

You wanted to dig yourself into a hole. Of all the things to say, your brain spits out this joke. You expected silence or for him to tell you to knock it off.

His response was neither.

“I don’t know.” He gave you his full attention, looking up from his phone. Eyes already twinkling with amusement but you were too stressed to even notice. Suddenly the room was ten degrees warmer.

“A brick.” You waited for the silence. For an annoyed huff. You’d have to meet with Price and leave the team. Surely you’d never live this one down. Not when it was just you and Ghost alone.

A rich roar of laughter came from the other end of the couch. So much force behind it that your cushion shook. It didn’t last more than five seconds but you knew you’d remember that sound forever. Simon’s eyes creased so much from how big his grin was that they were almost closed.

You were in awe. You needed to hear it again.

“I thought you didn’t like my jokes.” You whispered, still in shock.

His eyebrows drew up in surprise. “You’re the funniest person I’ve met!”

You mouth open and shut not unlike a fish out of water. Confusion etched into every inch of your body.

“Then fucking laugh! Holy shit I thought you couldn’t stand me!” Relief washed over you like a warm shower after a long day.

Ghost laughed again, its warmth just as surprising this time as the last. You didn’t know when you got to your feet but now you were pacing. A barrage of emotions hit you all at once and you felt they might consume you if you sat still.

A large hand gripped your forearm, stopping you.

“When I’m on base, around those that aren’t my team, I keep up the image of ‘Ghost’. The mask, the stoicism, it’s all part of it.” He explained, turning you to face him.

A small, satisfactory smile crept onto your lips.

“So you’re telling me I just made ‘The Ghost’ laugh at a dumb joke I heard in elementary school?”

Ghost shook his head, hand releasing your wrist. His eyes were suddenly very gentle while he looked at you.

“No, you just made me laugh.” Hands pulled the balaclava over his head as he spoke. You froze, watching in awe. He ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair before looking up at you. “Without the mask I’m just Simon.”

Your mouth acted faster than your brain, per usual. There was no time to stop the words that flew out.

“It’s so not fair that you get to be mysterious AND hot.” You slapped your hands over your mouth.

Simon laughed again. This time his expression in full view for you to see. Your embarrassment lost as you drank in the sight of him. Brown eyes crinkled with amusement and his pink lips grinning easily.

“So you think I’m hot?”

“Shut up, I think I’m working through the stages of shock right now.” Your sarcasm and humor on full autopilot as your brain worked overtime to process all this new information. Another laugh blessed your ears.

“I know how you can shut me up.” Simon smirked, eyes full of mirth as he leaned back into the couch.

“I’m sorry, did you just flirt with me? Let a girl catch her fucking breath for…” You couldn’t finish your sentence. Simon had pulled you down and captured your mouth with his. Your lips moved in time, tongue slipping into his mouth once you’d both relaxed.

When you pulled apart the two of you spent the night talking. Having conversations about everything and anything. And you made him laugh so much his sides hurt. He didn’t mind. It felt good to relax this fully with someone. He loved the way you’d light up as he laughed, wanting to keep that expression on your face.

And he would, as often as he could, for the rest of your lives.

[moonstruckme]

This celebration bake sale is so unbelievably precious omg I’m in love with you

Congrats on 7k!! And wishing you a lovely birthday!!

May I request a little apple pie with Carmy and the prompt a six pack of beer and an apology (#10) (it just seems so him)

I’m overwhelmed with affection for you babe <3

Thank you lovely, I got really excited about the idea haha. And you're right, it is so him <3

cw: alcohol

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 902 words

You’re unsurprised to open your door and find Carmy on the other side. It’s why, while you have changed into your pajamas, you didn’t go for one of the shirts that’s all moth-bitten or the pants with rockstar squirrels printed on them (they’re very comfy, alright?). These are your presentable pajamas, and they allow you to stand tall in your slippers and look at Carmy with some dignity. 

He, of course, in his chef’s coat. It still has some sauce splattered on the fabric partway down his chest. You know he’s trying to look presentable since the restaurant went more upscale, but you miss his tight white t-shirts (for reasons which will remain unspecified, though you’ve hinted to him more than once). 

“Hey,” Carmy says. He looks abashed, which is a nice start. 

You’re not letting him off easy, though. You cross your arms and let your hip jut out a little, regarding him coolly. “Hi.” 

His gaze seems stuck on your chin. “I, uh. I wanted to apologize.” 

Try as you might, you can’t help the little smile that turns your mouth at how awkward he sounds. You lift an eyebrow to try to retain some of your higher ground. “Okay. Wanna come in and have a drink?” you ask him, partly because you know how difficult this is for him and partly because you want him to know you know how difficult this is for him. 

“Sure,” he says, letting you lead the way to the fridge. You grab a couple of beers from a six-pack, setting them down on the kitchen table. 

Your fingers grow slippery with condensation as you crack yours open. Carmy moves to do the same, but his mouth twists. 

“What?” 

His eyes flick up to yours like he’s been caught. You don’t know why he’s surprised; Carmy has never been good at keeping things off his face. He gives a minute shake of his head. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?” 

“It’s nothing.” He’s looking at the table, and you get the sense that while he sounds like he’s done talking, he’ll say more if you let him. So you stay quiet. “Just, my mom used to baste turkeys with this stuff.” 

You raise your eyebrows. You and Carmy haven’t been together for long, but you’ve been around his family long enough to know what his mom is like. What holidays mean for them all. “This same brand?” 

“Yeah.” Carmy still looks like he’s about to open it, working a short fingernail under the tab, but you pull it away from him before he can. 

“What do you want instead?” you ask earnestly. 

Again, he looks surprised. You’re reminded of how much tough love he’s around all the time. Maybe you ought to be kinder to him. He chews the inside of his cheek, thoughtful. 

“Do you have any ginger beer? I could make a Moscow mule.” 

And again, your lips betray you. You almost laugh, actually. “God, that is so New York.” You stand, taking your beers back to the fridge. Yours will get flat. You don’t mind. “What would make you think I have ginger beer? In my tiny fridge? Why would I stock that?” 

You can practically feel the waves of Carmy’s awkwardness hitting your back like radiation. “If you don’t have any…” 

“No, I do.” You emerge with two cans of ginger beer. “Weirdly, I bought some months ago and it got shoved back there. Make me one, too, that sounds way better than beer.” 

Carmy stands to take the cans from you, going to the counter. He’s not smiling but looks tantalizingly close to it, the tension in his shoulders relaxing somewhat. “Do you also have a lime, or…”

You roll your eyes. “In the bowl on your left, fancy pants.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Thank you.” You sit back down in your chair, watching him cut your lime into wedges. “As apologies go, you’re off to a great start.” 

“Yeah.” Carmy sounds a tad bashful. “I wasn’t really expecting it to go this well.” 

You take a breath, letting it whoosh out of you, and decide to put him out of his misery. When you speak, your voice is serious, though not unkind. “You can’t just yell at me because you’re stressed, Carm.” 

Carmy’s shoulders string tighter again. “I know. I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that, I’m sorry.” 

“I know you’re used to a lot of yelling, and it’s all you hear in your kitchen and stuff, but not with me. I can’t do it, okay? And you can tell me when you’re having a shit day—I’d love that, actually—but you can’t expect me to tiptoe around you because someone else did something when I wasn’t around.” 

“I know.” Carmy’s eyes close. He looks almost pained. “I know, I know. I really fucked up. It won’t…I won’t let it happen again. Really.” 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“I’ll keep my shit separate.” 

“Okay. I believe you.” You wait until he opens his eyes, let him see the sincerity in your expression. Among other, softer feelings, probably. “We’re cool. Okay?” 

He nods once. He still looks guilty, ashamed, but that’s okay. You’ll bring him back around. Forgive him forcefully until he gets past it, too. 

“Sick.” You pull your legs up into your chair, crossing them and setting your hands on your knees eagerly. “I still want my apology drink, though. Blow my mind, chef.”

[rainylana]

“I’ll think about it.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: your sexual desires finally come to light.

warnings: very dark fic with very dark topics. topics include; rape, rape fantasies, fantasies of being beaten and abused, unhealed trauma, language, breakdowns and some smut. please do not read if you are triggered by these topics. this speaks heavily to me and i poured my heart into it. please let me know what you think>3

There’s a way he makes you feel like no other man has before. It’s a new level of trust, loyalty and desire. There’s a way he makes your body ache for things that you’ve never dreamt of before. This new love with him, though you would not trade it for anything ihn the world, makes you sick with your own guilt. These scenarios your brain puts him in with you, these desires you have. It eats you up, because how can you ask your partner, who you love and respect, to do such horrible things to you. You don’t know. Maybe you’re sick. Well, you have to be.

It started a few months after you started having sex. That was nearly a year ago. You came so close to asking him what you wanted from him, but you were petrified. It wasn’t that you weren’t satisfied in your sex life, it wasn’t that you couldn’t get off with him, but there were many times after he fell asleep you would sneak off and cry.

Eddie knew of your assault back during your childhood. You’d told him about it early on and he had listened. He did what everyone else did, apologized and offered his ear if you were to ever need it. You would like to think you recovered well from it, but if you had, would you be thinking this way?

This had to be the way to heal you, just one night of what you wanted and all of it would go away. You needed it. It consumed you. It was all you thought about, what you dreamed of and desired most. You wouldn’t ever admit it to yourself, but because you loved Eddie so much, because you trusted him, you wanted it to be with someone you felt safe with. You wanted to take it back. You wanted to be raped by your own rules.

There were many of times the single thought made you throw up and want to slit your wrists. You could never ask it of Eddie, but small steps. Yes, you could definitely start small.

“Y/n?”

His voice startled you, snapping you out of a daze at the dinner table.

“You alright?” He chuckled. “Seem a little out of it there.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Fine. Just daydreaming, is all. Is the spaghetti good?”

“Oh, yeah, babe,” He said, scooping up another bite. “Always is. You’re the best at cooking. I don’t know how you do it! I thought Wayne was a master chef till I met you.” He laughed.

“Don’t diss Wayne.” You defended the man with a smile. “He can somehow manage to make a frozen pizza better than anyone.”

“That’s true.” He agreed, your eyes locked in a shared moment of bliss. You liked these moments, moments when you could forget your own mind.

“So tell me how your day was?”

You both talked about your days, what you had for lunch, what your coworkers were up to. You talked and talked, but your mind would not stop twisting and pulling at the curtains of what you kept back and away from your mouth.

Your stomach was hot, the space between your legs throbbing and ready to be played with. You were ready all the time, always sexually driven and ready for Eddie to touch you. At work, during sleep. You needed these things and you weren’t getting them.

An hour later you and Eddie were on the couch, cuddled up and watching the game show channel. You were kissing softly, passionately, little nips here and there that made you stifle a moan. Eddie’s hand moved to run up your thigh and down to your ankle, caressing your leg.

Your hair was let loose from your pony tail, tossed to the floor and forgotten. Your shoes kicked off along with them. Eddie kissed your neck, biting at it, switching up the tempo.

He pulled you atop of his lap, pants off and panties discarded. He sunk into you, and you both sang out in a satisfied moan of relief. You rocked back and forth slowly, then faster. Eddie sucked at your chest, moaning out joyfully as you road him.

“Ah,” He pushed out between his pink, plump lips.

You were screaming vulgar things inside yourself, the horrible things you wanted him to do to you. You focused on the pleasure building inside your stomach, the idea of his hands slapping you, holding you down. It brought you so close to the edge.

“Y/n? Hey, what’s wrong?” Eddie stopped his thrusts, concern etching his voice.

You opened your confused eyes. “What? Why’d did you stop?”

“You’re crying.” He said, sitting up, his cock still buried inside of you. “Am I- did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m-” You brought up a hand to your face to prove that you were doing just that. “Oh.”

“Are you alright?” He was slightly panting, tilting his head. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, not knowing why you were crying. Well, you did. You wanted him to take you in the cruelest way possible. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I ruined the moment.”

It was clear you were not fine. Your voice broke. Eddie looked at you oddly. “Honey,” He gently lifted you off of him. “What’s goin’ on, huh?”

“I’m alright.” You smiled through your tears, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.”

He stared at you like you were crazy before he eventually nodded. “Okay.” He placed a hand on your shoulder. “We won’t do anything tonight, alright, honey?”

“No, no,” You rushed. “I want to! Please, let’s keep going.”

“But your crying.” He said dumbfounded. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine, Eddie!” You stressed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I just want to fuck, okay?”

You were going crazy, that’s what he assumed, but he wasn’t going to turn down sex. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and scoff, nodded and reached up to kiss you. You moaned loudly into his mouth, trying to prove to him that you were okay.

He brought you back down on his cock, hard and frustrated. You could feel it. It filled you with adrenaline. It became messy, the thrusts, the kisses and noises. “Spank me.” You begged.

He did as you asked and smacked your ass, but not hard enough for what you wanted. He never did. Eddie sure did think he was heavy into the bdsm, but to you, he wasn’t.

“Stop.” Eddie again, quickly pulled you off of him, lifting you with both hands to sit you down beside him. “Y/n, what’s the matter with you?”

You were sobbing, naked and embarrassed of your behavior. You couldn’t possibly tell him. He’d never understand. You’d scare him. You’d only been dating for a year. Was this something your relationship could handle so early on? You weren’t sure.

He wanted to shake you. He was scared and worried he’d been hurting you. “Sweetheart,” Eddie cooed, grabbing your shoulders. “Look at me. Take a deep breath and look at me.”

You did as he asked and looked at him through tears and snot, taking a deep breath.

“Angel, you’re scaring me.” He laughed without humor. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

You shook your head, pulled away and buried your face in your hands. “I can’t.” You blubbered. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” He tried to be gentle with you. You had breakdowns like this before. He knew you were sensitive to things, and one of those things was sex, that’s why he tried to be gentle with you. He hadn’t realized that was the problem. “You tell me everything. What’s changed? Is it me?”

“No.” You whimpered, not looking at him. You didn’t realize you were wearing a blanket over your shoulders now. “It’s me. I’m fucked up.”

He didn’t know what to do. You’d be ready to talk to him if he gave you time. He scooted closer to you and wrapped and arm around your back, pulling you to his chest and leaning back into the couch. You cried like a baby. He knew there was something wrong. You hadn’t gotten this upset in quite some time.

“I don’t want to scare you.” You sniffled. “I’m afraid…of what you’ll think of me.”

He pulled away to grab your face. “Listen to me, baby. We’ve been through hell. Apart and together. Nothing is going to change the way I feel for you, understand? Nothing. That’s crazy talk. Now you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you really don’t want to, but you can okay? I’m here and I want to be.”

God he was perfect. When he talked like this, it made you feel as though you were the only girl in the world. You could trust him.

You stared at him before nodding slowly. “Okay.”

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek and your hand. “I love you, sweetheart. I wish you knew how much.”

You nodded. “I do. I wish you knew how much I love you.”

He smiled. “I do.”

You hugged him, arms folding around his back, perfectly fit. You both held each other for many minutes. He was giving you time and you knew he was.

“Please, don’t be scared of me, Eddie.” You begged. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I want you to— I want…I-no, no, I can’t do this!” You panicked, quickly darting up and running across the room to gather your clothes.

“Y/n!” He pounced up with you. “Calm down-”

“No!” You quickly pulled up your shorts and threw on your shirt. “Forget everything I said! Just forget it! I’m sorry!”

“Baby,” Eddie pulled on his boxers, keeping eye contact with you. “You need to calm down and just tell me what’s bothering you so bad, okay? Please? You’re scaring the hell out of me? Did someone hurt you?”

“No!” You practically screamed. “No one hurt me! You didn’t hurt me! That’s the problem! I need you to hurt me!”

“What?” He said confused, watching you break down right in front of him. “Y/n, I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.” You cried. “I don’t either. I’m sick in the head, Eddie. I have these needs that aren’t…they’re just sick! I can’t ask you to do them!”

And maybe that was the case. Maybe you couldn’t ask him to do these things. But you could still talk about them. As upset as you were, you were spilling the load off your chest that you’d been carrying for months.

“Do what?” He took a step toward you. “Just tell me what it is, y/n. Just tell me so we can talk about it. I want to help.” He held out a hand like he was training a wild animal.

He was so sweet and innocent. This would ruin him. You couldn’t ask him of this. You couldn’t.

“I want you to rape me, Eddie!” You sobbed, throwing down your hands to lock eyes with him. “I want you to beat me! I want you cut me and hurt me and make me cry and bleed and-and,” You cried hysterically, hugging your stomach in the middle of the trailer kitchen. If Wayne were to walk in, he’d surely loose his mind.

“I don’t understand why!” You continued through tears. “I guess….maybe it’s because of back then! With…him. I don’t know! I just know I want you to do it! I want to be raped by someone I trust! I trust you and love you, Eddie. I need you to do this for me, please!” You were so loud. You didn’t realize how loud you were being. You couldn’t help.

“God, I’m crazy!” You scoffed through tears, pacing around and completely forgetting your boyfriends existence. “This is insane! I’m insane! I think about it all the time and I can’t stop!”

Eddie felt like he was going into shock. He was watching you, taking it all in. He tried to be calm and collected, trying to be relaxed so he could help the situation, help you, but how could he understand what you were saying? He couldn’t. It didn’t make sense.

“You- want me to,” His voice was eerily quiet, bringing your clouded daze back over to him. “To rape you?” He shook his head. “Y/n, I don’t understand.”

“I know.” You sobbed. “I’m sick.”

“Beat you?” He said aloud, testing the words on his tongue. “Cut- rape you?” He gave you an incredulous look. “No. No, we are not having this conversation.” He went to turn away, but you wouldn’t let him.

“No! No, Eddie, please, don’t leave!” You hyperventilated out your words. You grabbed at his arms, doubled over and fell to your knees. He caught you as you fell, shushing you with a shaky voice. “Y/n, please.” He begged. “Take a breath and calm down. I’m here, okay? I’m not leaving. Just breath for me, alright, sweetheart?”

He held your face and helped you breath.He repeated it over and over. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, or maybe it was yours. Maybe both. You both looks at each other, and right when he thought you’d calmed down, you squeaked out a cry that broke his heart.

“I’m so sorry.” You shook your head in disgust.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He tried to keep you calm. “Just keep breathing, okay?”

“I don’t wanna be like this, I don’t.” You cried in his hands. “I don’t, I don’t.”

“Shh, shh, baby, come here.” He pulled you to his chest, lifting you up to lay in his lap like a baby. It was too much for his heart. Everything was finally catching up to him, and funny enough, it was making sense. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew this was because of your past assault, these….sexual desires you were speaking of.

He knew there were dark corners that were like cobwebs in your mind. They did in everyone’s. Everyone had their skeletons, and who was he to judge. No, Eddie wasn’t judging you. He was afraid for you. He thought you had healed. He had watched you heal with him. It was your first time being in love, having consensual sex. It was your first big, so of course all of these feelings were coming to light. He had to be understanding.

But at the same time, under no circumstances, would he rape you. He would not beat you. Cut you. He couldn’t. He would help you in every way he could, but rape? That wasn’t something he could do. Of course, he knew of rape fantasies, but if it hadn’t meant as much to you as it did, you wouldn’t have been carrying on so.

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?” He said after a few minutes is silence, apart from your hiccups and sniffles.

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was crazy.” Your voice was hoarse and dry.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, honey.” He sighed, kissing the top of your head. “I think you’re trying to survive in a world that’s done you wrong. That doesn’t make you crazy, y/n.”

“Can we just forget about it?” You looked up at him. “About everything I said?”

He looked down to you, watching as fat tears fell down your face. “I don’t think we should. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

You looked down to the floor and cried. “I just want to feel normal. I feel like it would help me.”

“I don’t think you realize just what you’re asking me.” He husked, already aching with guilt. “You’re asking me to rape you, y/n, just like that scumbag fuck did to you when you were a kid. I won’t ever do anything like that to you ever.” He could see the disappointment in your eyes, the way they welled up with fresh tears and stared off into the space of nothing. It made him want to vomit.

“Y/n,” He grabbed your face. “We can have rough sex. I can slap you around a little, that’s one thing. There’s nothing regrettable about that. But what you’re asking is a completely different ball park. I’m not going to do it.”

“But,” You sat up. “What if we start small?”

He sighed heavily. He didn’t want to entertain the idea, but he also wanted to help you. You thought this would help you, but there was no way he could—

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” You began. “How about you just hit me more? We can roleplay maybe? You could choke me or spank me? Is that okay?” You sounded so enthusiastic, so happy at the idea.

It wasn’t a terrible idea, going slow, increasing the speed to sexually satisfy you. “We can do that.” He nodded.

“We can go slow. Work up to it. We can-”

“Y/n,” He interrupted you, shaking his head. “Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’m not going to do that. I can’t. It’s just not right.”

You were going to crying again, he could see it.

“Please, Eddie.” You begged silently through bright eyes. “Just think about, please? Please?”

He would start slow, baby steps to “help you”, but he worried in his gut that he would be making a terrible mistake. He sighed.

“I’ll think about it.”

[thefandomdirtymind]

Opla!sanji and a siren/mermaid???

A/N IMPORTANT:  Hi anon ! Thank you for your request, as a big fan or mermaid/siren I was so thrill by the idea ! I had tried many things here and I hope you will like it !

The Mermaid Dream

OPLA - Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji series : SFW Shiny Offering - NSFW The Small Favor

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.  

---

The notorious floating restaurant The Baratie was, like every other night, completely full. At every table of the large dining room were sat the most famous and wanted Pirates. Adding to the hubbub of their conversation and squeaking of their utensils against their plates, the waiters, in a urge to offer the perfect service and then earn their tips, looked like a swarm of bees dancing around elegant honeycombs. 

The kitchen wasn't any more quiet. In every corner or the overheated room, the crew of cooks was running to prepare the many dishes ordered. Only stopping a millisecond to put the plates under the warming light and watch with nervous eyes if Zeff, the renowned chef and owner of the place, was preparing himself to punish somebody, hoping there wasn’t them.

Even the opened mouth of this unusual boat establishment, occupied by a respectable bar, was crowded and noisy. 

Nervously standing behind the luxurious burgundy velvet curtain, your palm sweaty, you briefly closed your eyes, trying to hear the sound of the wave crashing against the ship hull. It wasn't the first time you were performing for the Baratie. But, you knew that each time was risky. The mermaid folks weren’t still welcome everywhere, most of the population were scared of being bewitched by your voices and the others had used your people to commit crimes and atrocities.

It was why you always wore a long gown covering your temporary legs and politely declined any trace of liquid they would offer you. It only takes a drop of water or a stubborn scale and your life would be in immediate danger. Of course Zeff was aware of what you are and would never let nothing happen to you. But, you couldn’t only count on him to protect you, you had to be cautious.

“ Miss Y/N it’s time, everythings is okay ?“ A polite waiter asked you, the golden cord in his hand,ready to unveil you to the loaded room. Nodding of your head, opening your eyes, you let the noise of the water calm your last knocked nerve before lifting your head to face your public.

The first note of your song, played by the musicians behind you, starts to fill the now quiet hall. It was mostly for you a faceless audience, only a few were really counting : like his. 

Still dressed in his cook uniform, his back against the wall, arm crossed against his chest, Sanji was smiling, waiting for you to operate your tour de force. As you know, the blond sous chef had, so far, never missed one of your performances, even if it had meant being punished by his mentor.

Signing your song, your voice flowing like the water of a peaceful river to finish in a waterfall. You open your eyes under a thunder of applause. Still in his corner, Sanji was clapping his hand with fervor, his face radiant of joy like if he had just discovered a new method of cooking. 

Later that night, as you emerged yourself in the oversize bathtub of your personal dressing room, your fins resting on the copper border and the last scales on your breast taking his place. You smiled. You knew that you shouldn’t think of him, loving a human when you couldn’t keep a pair of legs longer than a few hours was ridiculous. However, you couldn’t stop yourself. Aside from Zeff, he was the only one knowing your secret and never made you feel uncomfortable about it.

Three knocks at the door extracted you from your thoughts followed by the sound of the key in the keyhole. You aren’t kept captive in the Baratie, but for your safety, Zeff had a long time ago asked you to lock the door, preventing anyone to simply walk on you as you were unable to freely move, stuck like a fish in a tank. Usually, your only visitor at these hours was the old chef coming to thank you for the show and often tell you stories about his time of piracy. 

But, it was Sanji who entered the room, this time dressed in a navy suit, a tray in his hand. 

“ Good evening Madam, I thought you should be famished after such an enchanting show “

“ I’m not really a Madam you know Sanji “ You smiled, amused even if the fact that you truly aren’t a human woman stung your heart a little.” I’m indeed hungry, thank you”  

“ Nonsense. You are more a lady than many that I had served in this crappy restaurant “ He replied, approaching the coffee table of the bath to put your plate and silverwares as he pulled himself a chair '' Salmon with his creamy lemon sauce, I prepared it myself with caution. “ 

“ It smells fantastique “ You smiled, lifting your upper body enough to be able to eat. “ Hmm, that's delicious, I truly had nothing like this in the whole sea” 

Here again, that proud smile was plastered on his face, making you regret your own nature as he looked at you eating his own kind of tour de force. The vicious cramps traveling your fins,was another. Trying to keep your expression blank, you couldn’t sadly stop the moan of pain you let escape after a particular strong one. 

“ What happened Miss Y/N, something wrong ?!” A concerned Sanji asked, his hand cripping the side of the tube, ready to take action and extract you of the water if needed. 

“ It's nothing, the side effect of being too long on two legs instead of…fins.” You confessed, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. “ It takes me a lot of energy and control to keep the form of my legs, i’m just exhausted, it will be over  when I will leave after the closing of the restaurant” You reassured him, touched by his worried tone. 

“ I see, then why are you pushing yourself to do those shows if it’s hurt you afterward ? Does Zeff know ? “ 

Eating your dinner, you slowly nod of the head, remembering the first time the old man discovered you crying of pain in the tube. He had at first, like Sanji, been worried,but, hearring you out he had finally accepted the fact that he couldn’t make you change your mind.  

“ It’s worth it. For the moment I can’t, people aren’t ready yet, but one day, I want to sit on this stage in this form. I want people to know that they don’t have to be afraid of us. We can sing without bewitching them, we don’t chase them if they fall in the water. when we shed tears, it’s from pain, not to make a profit of their medicinal effect. That’s my dream, that one day I will be able to show people that we are good, not monsters. “

“ It’s an admirable dream “ Sanji smiled, a tenderness in his eyes.” If somebody is capable of such a thing it’s you.  After all you didn’t have to talk or sing, I had been spellbound the minute I saw you and I'm sure that the audience could say the same. “

Looking at his sincere face, you felt the warm sensation of hope blooming in your scaly chest. 

“ I would never use my magic on you, you know Sanji aren’t you ? “ You replied, wishing you had not misunderstood his words. 

“ I know, Madam. The things I feel every time I'm near you aren't an illusion, no lies could be that strong…” 

Your heart racing like if you were hunted by a shark, you gently placed your hand on his, tangling them affectionately. 

“ Sanji, would you walk me to the deck tonight…” You demanded. The walk, situated at the tail of the building, wasn’t very long, but it would let you spend a lot of time in his company before having to go back in the water. 

“As you wish Y/N “ He promised, watching your tangled hand. “ I should go, the restaurant will close soon and the old man will probably look out for me.”

“ See you later, I will wait for you outside, near your usual smoking place” You confirm, gripping the side of the tub in excitement. 

“ I will be there, see you later “ He replied before going out, leaving you alone to realize what just happened.

--

The half moon was high when Sanji got out of the closed Baratie.Without realizing it, he had replayed in his head every of your smile and phrases during your conversation, still amazed that you returned his affection.  But as he arrived at the meeting spot, his heart missed a beat. 

A hand against your mouth, flanked by two customers previously kicked out, you were fighting for your life, your fragile leg giving up under you as you tried to get yourself free.

“ Let her go now” He ordered, rage filling his veins. How could they dare touch your perfection and try to steal you from him.

“ Mate, go back inside mind your own business !” One of the pirates replied, trying to move you.  

“ I say, let her go. “ Sanji repeated, taking his fighting stance. The men were larger and heavier than him, but with his training and under your terrified gaze, he couldn’t lose. 

It didn’t take long to put them down. Sadly, you join them when your knees buckle due to the loss of energy. 

“ Y/N are you okay ? “ The blond jumped, catching you.

“ Yes I…need the water...I…I’m sorry” You said, tears filling your eyes. “ They said somebody saw me coming out of the water, they were waiting for me, Sanji…I can’t sing here anymore…” 

“ I will inform the old man, he will find the person and you will be able to sing here as long as you want.” He promised, caressing the side of your face. “ Let me put you in the water, your skin is cold and you shake of exhaustion  “ 

“ No wait I wanted...I wanted to…never mind” You said, avoiding his gaze as your legs disappeared. 

“ What ? Tell me  “ He insisted. 

“ I wanted to kiss you…during the time I have legs…like a normal girl but…they're gone…I’m sorry it’s stupid.”  You sigh, embarrassed. 

“ A normal girl…Madam, don’t lower yourself to that, you’re fantastic as you are and I would never want anything else. Now if you let me “ He reassured you, lifting you in his arms in a bridal style before gently putting his lips against yours.  

Kissing him was like breathing underwater :soft,warm and perfect. As he gently retreated his mouth, you could still see that something was in this thought. 

“ You can sing here as much as you want but…I think I have a proposition for you. Yesterday a guy offered me a place in his crew, the Old man pushed me to go for it…find the All blue.  Please, come with me…You could show people like you wanted that you not what they thought, I will protect you and these crew seem really good” 

The offer takes you by surprise, you never could imagine The Baratie without him. In fact, you couldn’t imagine yourself singing there anymore if he wasn’t even there to watch you perform, nor could you think of your life without him in it. 

“ Okay, if they accept me I will follow you” 

—

The straw hat crew didn’t just accept you, you became a member of the group. 

Swimming  along the boat, signaling at Sanji to be ready,you take some speed and jump grabbing the dangling rope, letting you perform Luffy's favorite number : The flying mermaid.

Helped by your previous momentum, you rise above the lower deck and fall in the arm of Sanji, always waiting to catch his precious mermaid.

[sempersirens]

yes, chef

masterlist

based on this request from the lovely @cool-iguana

summary: joel miller is the head chef of a prestigious michelin star restaurant in the city. after working for him for over a year, you're determined to not let his ill-temper and cutting words dampen your spirit and love for your career. you won't give in at chipping away at his tough exterior, living for the hope of finding something sweeter below the surface

pairing: no-outbreak, chef!joel x f!reader

content/warnings: angst, joel is a cocky piece of shit, hurt/comfort if you squint

a/n: so i've been binging the bear. what of it. if you have culinary experience i am so sorry, i don't know what the fuck i'm talking about. i literally just watch masterchef.

"I need that grilled octopus plated. Now. This ain't a fuckin' old folk’s home."

"Yes, chef!"

Joel Miller was mean. That was the first thing you had learnt upon stepping into his kitchen over a year ago.

You'd know what you were getting yourself into before you'd even arrived at the restaurant for your first day. Joel's reputation preceded him; he was notorious for running a tight and intimate regime, so successfully that he'd earned a Michelin star to his name. The restaurant itself was a small but sweet seafood and farm-to-table bistro in the middle of the city.

It had taken some settling in, to put it lightly. You had your fair share of culinary experience having worked your way around Europe as a poissonier after graduating culinary school. Still, the other chefs at Joel's restaurant had been working in kitchens since you were in diapers, as they frequently enjoyed reminding you.

Despite the high expectations and fast pace of the kitchen, you soon found your feet.

"On the pass for saucier, chef."

Luke, the restaurant's saute chef, rushed to your side, saucepan in hand. He delicately poured an olive oil, shallot, and herb dressing onto the tentacle, stepping back to indicate the dish was ready to be taken out onto the floor.

"Good job, sweetheart." Luke winked at you, placing a light tap on your ass.

As much as you loved your profession, degradingly misogynist gestures were extremely common. You'd made the mistake of calling out a sous chef earlier on in your career, soon realising how ingrained this kind of mindset was in the older generations you found in a kitchen.

So, you gritted your teeth and got on with it.

"This is a kitchen, not a brothel. Feel each other up on your own damn time." Joel called across the room, making you thankful for the heat of the kitchen masking the blush across your cheeks.

"Yes, chef. Sorry, chef." Luke responded, tail between his legs.

You continued preparing your seafood dishes, feeling Joel's presence lurking behind you.

"Waitin' for that sea bass to come back t'life?"

"No, chef."

"Then fuckin' grill it."

"Yes, chef."

"Too busy thinkin' 'bout your fuckin' boyfriend over there if you ask me."

You were a good chef; not even a decent chef, but a really fucking good one. You put your everything into your dishes, and Joel knew that, meaning his degrading comments stung even more sharply.

Sometimes it felt as though he specifically targeted you. You had wondered if it was down to your age, or maybe simply because you were a woman. You never did anything that warranted such scathing words, yet you were the main recipient of them.

You did what you do best, and just got on with it. You carried on the rest of the night enduring his small but cutting digs in your direction, as well as a slap on the ass from Luke after plating up each dish.

Maybe it was the heat of the kitchen, or your patience wearing thin, but when you'd braved a particularly vicious snide comment from Joel back-to-back with a far too over-familiar hand on the waist from a passing Luke, you snapped.

"Fuck!" You shouted, slamming your fists down, realising just too late that your left hand was in perfect line with the grill.

Your reflexes kicked in instantly, pulling your hand to your chest with a pathetically weak hiss. Thanks to your prior outburst, everybody's gaze was already fixated on your station. Your eyes caught Joel's, fury burning on his face.

"Out. Now." He ordered.

Now it was your turn to tuck your tail between your legs, still clutching your hand as you barged out of the back door.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't you fucking dare cry.

Blatantly, your body wasn't listening to you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes before rapidly falling down your face. You had tried to stand up for yourself, to make a stand, and you'd failed miserably.

You were so in your own head that you hadn't heard the kitchen door open, the sound of a small cough causing you to not so discreetly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

"You're not fuckin' blubbing, are you?" Joel scoffed.

"What's your fucking problem?" You spat, surprising yourself with your tone. Fuck it, you thought. Probably fired anyway, may as well go for the jugular.

"Why are you so mean to me, and only me? I work my ass off in that kitchen, day in, day out. Harder than anyone else, including you. You don't give any of the others half the shit I get. Is it because you're some soon-to-be dried up lonely chef with just your ten-year-old Time Magazine front cover to keep you company at night that you've got such a stick up your ass? Or are you just a sexist pig?"

He whistled and raised his eyebrows, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his back pocket, taking one for himself before offering you one. You accepted, leaning forward for him to light the end for you. As he flicked the lighter, you flitted your eyes up to meet his, which were already trained directly on you.

The second thing you had learned about Joel Miller, not so shortly after the first, was that he was beautiful. Whenever you caught his all-consuming, hazelnut eyes lingering on you, you couldn’t help but feel butterflies swarm in your stomach. It had been hell swallowing your attraction for him for well over a year; you knew the reason his curt words and stoic attitude hurt you so much was because you were desperate to impress him. Not because of his status or accolades, but simply because of the kind of man he was. He was rough around the edges and cruel just for the sake of it, but every now and then you would catch a tenderness to him. Namely, when his daughters came to visit the restaurant and he would scoop them up in his big arms, transforming into a loving teddy-bear as soon as he stepped out of the kitchen.

You stayed close to him after pulling away, both of you taking a drag in silence.

"S'only five years old, actually."

"What?"

"My Time Magazine cover. Only came out five years ago."

"Right." You suppressed a laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you'd found his comment humorous.

Another couple of minutes of silence passed as you soaked in the distant noises of traffic from the inner-city; the mixture of the far-off bustle, the warm summer night, and the nicotine rushing to your head made your outburst feel like a distant memory.

"You any better at pouring a whiskey than usin' a grill?" Joel asked, breaking your momentary tranquility.

"Excuse me?"

He didn't respond, rather, half-opened the kitchen door and barked for the sous chef to cover for him.

"Let's take care of that hand'a yours."

The adrenaline coursing through your blood had shifted your focus from the searing pain in your palm, which now came rushing back to you all at once. It could’ve been worse, but you were eager to ease the tight stinging as quickly as possible.

You followed Joel through to the back office, the commotion of the kitchen down the hall a honeyed murmur through the closed door. He placed two tumblers and a half-full bottle of whiskey in front of you.

“If you’d be so kind.”

As you poured the drinks, he rifled through the overflowing shelves for the never used first-aid kit.

He took a swig from his glass before taking your hand in his, turning your palm upwards and resting it on his lap. He worked in silence, brushing over the wound with cleaning solution, gently dragging a thumb soothingly up the side of your hand each time you hissed through your teeth at the pain.

His touch was uncharacteristically gentle; he took his time in applying the antibiotic cream, rubbing smooth circles over your blistering skin.

“So, you and Luke an item or somethin’?” He asked, a hint of something coating his voice that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Are you serious? God, no. He just seems to have a problem keeping his hands to himself.”

Joel’s head snapped up, meeting your gaze for the first time since you’d sat down opposite one another.

“I’d never have let him touch you like that if I knew.”

Unsure how to respond, you took another swig from your glass to keep your mouth occupied.

“M’sorry, by the way. For always bein’ so harsh on you. I just know you’re talented-”

“Don’t give me that I just want you to reach your full potential shit. I know you don’t care enough for that-”

“I don’t care? That what you really think?”

His tone was softer now, if you didn’t know him better, you would’ve sworn you could hear a twang of sadness in his voice.

He gently dressed your wound, taking care in placing the adhesive and securing it with a bandage. He tucked the loose end into place but kept a gentle grip on your hand, rubbing his thumb over your padded palm absent-mindedly.

“Course I fuckin’ care, that’s the damn problem.”

“You’ve got a real funny way of showing it.” You scoffed.

He poured you both another round, taking a swig of his drink before rubbing a hand over his mouth, a laugh creeping across his face.

“You were right earlier, I am fuckin’ washed up and lonely. I should’ve left, got more than enough damn cash than I know what to do with. Nothin’ I want more than to disappear to a farmhouse somewhere w’my girls, leave all this pompous shit behind.”

“So, what’s stopping you?” You asked softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“You walkin’ into my kitchen like a damn angel sent from above.”

A breath caught in your throat. It must be the whiskey, you thought, he’s probably loosened up and horny, trying his luck for a token of your appreciation for him putting you back together.

“I thought t’myself, how can I up and leave now, when the most beautiful woman I ever saw has just walked into my kitchen?”

“You’re drunk.” You tried to rationalise, not believing the words tumbling out of his mouth.

He held his hand out flat, as still as a surgeon’s, as if it would somehow prove he was telling the truth.

“M’not, see. I just thought you n’that idiot in there were fuckin’.”

“Oh my god,” your eyes widened, leaning back in your chair at the realisation finally piecing his actions together.

“You were jealous.”

“Of him? Never.”

“Don’t lie to me now, Joel. You thought we were together and you were jealous. That’s why you were always so fuckin’ mean to me.”

His cheeks reddened as he brought a hand to the back of his neck.

“Maybe I was. Hated thinkin’ of a girl like you endin’ up with a piece of shit like him.”

“In comparison to what, someone like you?” You leant forward, placing your glass on the side before rising from your chair to stand in between his legs, resting your hands on the sides of his rough face.

“Now, sweetheart, would that be so bad?”

[superhero--imagines]

Bat Boys on Valentines Day

Dick Grayson

* Made reservations a month ago

* Cross-checked the regular menu and seasonal menu to make sure there were things you’d like and conformed to your dietary preferences

* Surprises you with flowers and a big ticket high-fashion item like a Luis Vuitton bag or a pair of shoes

* When he hands it over the shocked look on your face makes him smile.

* You shower him with kisses in a second.

* “I” *kiss* “love” *kiss* “you” *kiss* “so” *kiss* “much!”

* He laughs at the ticklish feeling and kisses you back when it’s over.

* “No, I love you so much.”

Jason Todd

* He hates crowds and decides to make you a nice pleasant meal at home.

* He decided the menu over a month ago, a full four course meal with curated cocktails, wine and ambiance.

* He ‘borrows’ some fine dining dishes from the manor and sets the table up with candles and a bouquet of flowers.

* “Do you like it?” He asks, nervous and afraid—he cooks for himself all the time but cooking for you makes him afraid beyond belief

* What if you don’t like it? What if you have a secret allergy? What if you never want to talk to him again because he didn’t take you out like a traditional date?

* “I love it! The risotto is so good and, are these truffles?”

* Afterwards he gives you some books he knows you want or that you would like and pressed flower bookmarks that he made himself.

* “Jason Todd, you are my entire heart.”

Tim Drake

* He forgets.

* “I thought Valentine’s Day was always on Thursday!” He shrieks, flipping through the phone book for any restaurant that’ll take you.

* “That’s Thanksgiving Tim.”

* But it’s okay—

* “Shit, you think dominos will still deliver today?” You shout from the other side of the room.

* —because you forgot too.

* You have pizza in bed while watching movies and cuddling.

* “This isn’t the worst right?” He asks.

* “Any day with quality time with you is a good day.” You mumble after a yawn, cuddling into his chest as he flushed bright pink.

Duke Thomas

* Classic Dinner and a Movie

* You guys haven’t been dating for long so he doesn’t want to scare you off with anything intense.

* You end up goofing around too long at the arcade connected to the movie theatre and missing your reservation slot.

* You end up getting soft pretzels and sitting by the lake.

* “Honestly, I think this is way better than eating at a French restaurant.”

* He laughs, “any time with you is a good one.”

Damian Waybe

* It’s a three person date — You, Damian, and Titus.

* You go for a walk around the lake, playing with Titus and jokingly splashing each other, and then a picnic on the grassy bluff above.

* “It’s pretty quiet today, huh?”

* “Everyone’s probably at the new french restaurant downtown.” He holds out a dipped strawberry for you which you bite into.

* “The one you can pronounce?”

* You laugh at his frown, pressing a kiss to his cheek, only to laugh again when Titus nudges you with his nose and places his head in your lap with a wagging tag.

* “Of course I didn’t forget you, kisses for Titus too!”

Bonus:

Bruce Wayne

* Wines and dines and sixty-nines you

* He’s probably got a standing reservation at the best restaurant in the city on account of the fact that he’s richer than god

* Gets a private room or balcony that overlooks the city so you have privacy but also the glitz and glam of a night out

* Already called ahead of time and got the chef to make your favorite dinner—just for you

* As a gift he gives you six orgasms in a row a cute little diamond accessory with his initial in gold.

[soulaires]

Double Trouble | A.W

PAIRINGS – dad!aaron warner x mom!reader

SYPNOSIS – meet the new addition to the warner family; angel and death.

ⓘ :: domestic fluff, warner is stressing bro, big sister dior!!, allusion to sex, chaotic duo, married life, pregnancy, used the word ‘mama’, suggestive themes!!!, this is VERY LONG,

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Now that I already finished this, I can actually post the divorce au, yeah it’s coming soon! (just need this to be up for days so you guys can get used to the twins before the divorce one) anyway, please comment and reblog!!! Means a lot to me ❤️‍🩹

You are very much sure as fuck that Aaron Warner is gonna get you pregnant once again after you made that promise

So, weeks later after you quickly realized that you are starting to get more grumpy, moody, missing your period, hating the random smells and just craving some unusual food, you ran to the bathroom as your husband and daughter is down in the kitchen making some pancakes

You found two pregnancy test in your drawer, the two untouched pregnancy test that you have bought years ago prior to your pregnancy with dior

When you saw two red lines indicating that you were pregnant, you were extremely happy.

instead being nervous or having a break down (just like you did in your pregnancy with dior) you were so excited to break the news your daughter and husband

you smile to yourself and looked at your belly, despite the bump not being visible you put your hands on top of it and smiles.

“Welcome to the family, baby warner. Mommy loves you already.”

you think to keep this a secret for awhile, intending the day for dior to spend the whole day for her achievements in her daycare

Not wanting her to feel jealous or feel being replaced

You know that she would be happy since she's been wishing for it but hey, better safe than sorry.

You carefully placed the tests back in the drawer and took a deep breath. The delicious smell of pancakes wafted up from the kitchen, where your husband, Aaron, and daughter, Dior, were busy cooking breakfast. You think that keeping this up yourself for a while would be fine, telling the news later on.

Making your way downstairs, you could hear Dior's giggles and Aaron. You paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of your husband and daughter laughing together as they flipped pancakes. Dior, with her golden curls bouncing, stood on top of your husband's feet, concentrating hard as she poured batter onto the hot griddle, while Aaron guided her little hands.

Your husband noticed you first, smiling softly, “good morning, my love.” hearing the word ‘love’ your daughter beamed and ran towards you.

“Mommy love!” she said as she hugged your legs looking at you with those adorable doe eyes, “momma uppie!”

Picking her up, "Good morning, my loves," you said, stepping into the kitchen giving your husband a kiss on the cheek while your daughter demanded your attention.

Aaron turned and flashed you a warm smile. "G’morning! You're just in time for the best pancakes in the world, courtesy of Chef Dior."

Dior beamed with pride. "Mommy, I made them just for you!"

You walked over and gave her a big hug, feeling an extra wave of emotion knowing she would soon be a big sister. "They smell amazing, sweetheart. Thank you."

You joined them at the table, and as they started serving the pancakes, you felt the weight of the secret you were carrying. You can't wait.

Later that day, the house was finally quiet. Aaron had just finished putting Dior to bed, her gentle breathing filling the nursery with a sense of peace that contrasted starkly with the earlier chaos. He lingered for a moment, watching her tiny chest rise and fall, before turning off the light and gently closing the door behind him.

Meanwhile, you were in the master bathroom, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

You knew you had to share this moment with Aaron and Dior sooner or later. The thought of seeing Aaron's reaction, of watching Dior's little face light up with the news of becoming a big sister, filled you with excitement. You quickly devised a plan to break the news to them in a way that would make the moment unforgettable.

Aaron was in the living room, reclining on the couch with a tired but contented look on his face. He smiled as you entered the room, patting the space next to him. "Hey, how’s our little troublemaker?" he asked, referring to Dior.

"Fast asleep, finally," you replied, sitting down and snuggling up to him. "She put up quite a fight, but you handled it like a pro."

He chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around you. "It's all worth it, you know? Even the crying and the sleepless nights. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

You took a deep breath, feeling your heart flutter with anticipation. "Aaron, I have something to show you," you said, your voice trembling slightly with excitement.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? What is it?"

You stood up and hurried back to the bathroom, retrieving the two pregnancy tests. When you returned to the living room, you held them behind your back, trying to contain your excitement. "Close your eyes," you instructed.

Aaron chuckled but complied, closing his eyes with a playful smile. "Okay, eyes closed."

You carefully placed the pregnancy tests in his hands, watching his face intently as he opened his eyes and looked down. For a moment, there was silence. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words.

"Are you serious?" he finally managed to say, looking up at you with a mixture of shock and elation.

You nodded, tears of joy welling up in your eyes. "Yes, Aaron. We're having another baby."

A wide grin spread across his face as he jumped up from the couch, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Oh my God, this is amazing! We're going to have another baby!" He kissed you passionately.

"We have to tell Dior tomorrow," you said, your voice filled with excitement.

It was tomorrow morning, time to tell dior. You can't help but be giddy about it and feel anxious. You guys went to her room with a knock on the door and kisses.

“Hey, princess,” Aaron said softly, sitting down on the edge of her bed with Dior in his lap. "Mommy and Daddy have something very special to tell you."

You sat down beside them, smiling at Dior as she woke up fully, curiosity replacing her sleepiness. "Dior, do you remember when you always talked about how wonderful it would be if you had a little brother or sister to play with?" you began gently.

Dior nodded, her eyes wide with interest. "Yes, Mommy."

"Well, guess what?" you continued, taking her tiny hands in yours. "Mommy has a baby growing in her tummy. You're going to be a big sister!"

Dior's eyes lit up with excitement and wonder. "Really? A baby?" she exclaimed, looking between you and Aaron.

Aaron nodded, beaming with pride. "That's right, sweetheart."

Dior's face broke into a huge smile as she clapped her hands together. "Yay! I’m going to be a big sister!" she squealed, throwing her arms around both of you in a tight hug.

You laughed, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks as you held your family close. "Yes, baby, you're going to be the best big sister ever," you said, kissing the top of her head.

Aaron and Dior took turns placing gentle hands on your belly, speaking softly to the new life growing inside you.

Dior would always look up at you with doe eyes . "Mommy, can I tell the baby I love them?" she asked.

Your heart melted at her words. "Of course, sweetheart," you said, leaning down so she could whisper to your belly.

"hi, baby," Dior whispered. "I love you."

You kissed her forehead, feeling a deep sense of peace and happiness. "Hi, Dior. We love you too.”

The rest of the morning was a blur of laughter and plans for the future. Dior couldn't stop talking about all the things she wanted to teach her new sibling, from how to ride a bike to her favorite bedtime stories. Aaron held you close, his hand resting protectively on your stomach, as if he could already feel the new life growing inside you.

Dior and Aaron would be so protective!!!

She would always look after you, giving you some check ups with her doctor toy kit while you and aaron go along with it (your husband is her assistant apparently)

she would scold her dad when she mess things up

obviously, your husband won’t let you do anything in the house just like before

they are both clingy and always pay attention to your needs

There was a get together to tell all of your friends and dior happily announced that she will be a big sister!!

juliette and nazeera were very happy for you and already planning for the gender reveal

delalieu then gave his best wishes for the new addition, giving hoth of you and your husband a hug. Then your daughter and james came running to snatch him to play

while kenji, fucking keni was obviously ecstatic and boasting that there will be a new baby that would have him as another favorite (oh little does he know)

Haider and kenji obviously teased you and warner for it cuz apparently the little shit “know how baby made” and they were amused lols

you guys went to Warner's mom tomb to tell her

and it was such a cute moment

When it was time for the gender reveal, sonya, kenji and nazeera had planned it out to all of you

The sun was shining brightly as everyone gathered in your backyard for the gender reveal party. A large black balloon, filled with either blue or pink confetti, floated in the center of the yard, waiting to be popped. Your husband stood beside you, holding your hand. “Alright, everyone! It’s time to find out if its a boy or a girl!” Aaron announced, his voice filled with excitement. You scanned the crowd, expecting to see dior’s eager face among them, but she was nowhere to be found. “Hey, where's Dior?” you asked, a hint of worry creeping into your voice.

“love she’s he—?!” your husband stopped as he frantically looked around, “Princess!?” he shouted. Haider, quickly stepped forward. “I’ll go get her, habibi, she’s probably inside.” he offered, heading inside the house.

“okay, thank you!” you smile softly

“wait let me come!” kenji shouted as he sprint inside. Moments later, the back door opened, and Kenji and haider appeared with Dior, who was holding another balloon, identical to the first one and you hear some gasp and ‘wooooo!’ ’omg omg’ from your friends You exchanged a puzzled glance with aaron. “What's going on?” you asked. “oh my gods” aaron chuckled lightly as he realized and gave you a kiss. Dior beamed up at you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Mommy, Daddy, there are two babies inside you!” You gasped as the realization sank in. You felt a surge of emotion, tears welling up in your eyes. "Twins?" you whispered, barely able to contain your joy.

Dior nodded vigorously. With shaking hands, you and aaron took hold of the two balloons. Dior stood between you, her face glowing with happiness. “Ready?” aaron asked, looking at you and Dior. "Ready," you both replied in unison. "Three, two, one!" Aaron counted down. With a loud pop, blue confetti burst from both balloons, raining down over you. The yard erupted in cheers and applause as everyone celebrated the news. "We're having twin boys!" you exclaimed, pulling aaron and Dior into a tight embrace.

Now you know it's a twin, you are starting to worry because twin??? Really???

You have no idea how you are going to survive

but aaron always assures you, always there for you

your moods and craving have gotten more extremes than your last pregnancy

and you are more horny than the last

Aaron would tease you to the fact that it is a twin

“mhm, fucked you so hard that it turns out to be a twin, huh mama?” he would whisper in your ears to tease you.

you are easily irritated like you always have something to say in every move your husband does and dior is just giggling beside you

“why do you sit like that?” you asked, “what’s wrong with the way I sit, honey?” he replied, eyebrow raised.

“I don’t like that color, aaron.” you scowl at him. “aw, I’m sorry sweetheart. I will go change, m’kay?”

one time you asked for aaron for a divorce so you can listen to the sad songs and relate cuz you wanna cry

he did not like that.

You really can’t sleep well because everyone and everything just gives you the ick

If you aren’t sleeping well, neither is he.

When you’re tossing and turning, he’s right there with you, sharing in your restlessness. Even if all he can offer is silent moral support, he can't truly rest knowing you're uncomfortable and exhausted. At the very least, he can help you up to pee every other hour or massage and squeeze your hips together for some much-needed relief or get you a water and your food cravings at god knows what time

If you have a sudden craving in the middle of the night, he’s the type to jump out of bed and head to the nearest store, no matter how inconvenient, just to bring you exactly what you want.

you and dior are incredibly enthusiastic about setting up the nursery, from choosing the perfect crib to painting the walls a calming color. You spend weekends together, assembling furniture and imagining the twins' arrival.

Mostly dior designing things—her passion is interior design you know.

He and dior regularly talk to your belly, telling the twins about their day, making up silly stories, and expressing their excitement to meet them. It’s a nightly ritual that always makes you smile.

He joins you in your pregnancy yoga classes, not just to support you but also to learn how to help you with stretches and breathing exercises that will make you more comfortable.

Every week, he insists on taking a photo of your growing bump, creating a beautiful timeline of your pregnancy. He loves capturing the journey and looks forward to showing the photos to the twins one day.

He sets up special nights for you, complete with foot massages, warm baths with soothing scents, and your favorite comfort foods, ensuring you feel as relaxed and loved as possible.

He never misses a prenatal appointment, always holding your hand during ultrasounds and asking questions to make sure he’s as informed and involved as possible.

When it's time for the big day (labor)

Throughout labor, Aaron whispers encouraging words, reminding you of your strength and how proud he is of you.

He massages your back and hips, just as he did during pregnancy

Between contractions, you lock eyes with Aaron, both of you silently communicating your love and support for each other.

When it’s time to push, Aaron is right there, holding your hand, counting with you, and providing support.

The moment the twins are born, you both are overwhelmed with emotion. Tears of joy and relief stream down Aaron's face as he hears their first cries.

Dior (with delalieu) is brought into the room to meet her baby brothers. She’s cautious but fascinated, gently touching their tiny hands and just staring at their little features.

She’s so fascinated and curious to the point she’s asking lots of questions like

Did I look like this when I was a baby?

When will they be able to talk and play with me?

Can I hold them? How do I do it?

Daddy, do they understand me when I talk to them?

How did they get in your tummy, Mommy? (she was so close asking where they came from and how they got into your tummy)

growing up, they are a MENACE

they are basically kenji’s karma fr

Dior is 3 years older!

Whenever you ask them who they are they just play around and its not funny

“hi, sweet boy, what’s your name?” you asked one of the twins .

“azie!” answered azrael. But when you turn to saint, asking the same question he answered “aziiee!!”

“that’s not funny, saint” your husband mused

Despite their names, Saint and Azrael are the total opposite. Saint, ironically, is the mastermind, he is NO SAINT. always the trouble maker.

Azrael, despite being named after the angel of death, is a total saint.

Azrael nicknames are; azie, and az!

Saint nickname are; santi!

you often wondered if they got switched up fr

Azrael is a shark type of baby (he’s a dolphin #1 hater so don’t go to him saying they are better than sharks. Dior and Saint def use it against him)

“Dolphins are waaaay better and cute! Look at my dolphin!” Then dior shows her pink and purple dolphin plushies that she got from barbie.

“Noooo, dolphins are evil!!” he argued and then he yapped about that issue

while saint is the dinosaur type (he knows his dinosaurs like a nursery rhyme. he used them as an insult, he often gets in trouble cuz of it)

“you’re a kid—” kenji jabbed (yes, he is having beef with a child)

“and you look like Oryctodromeus!” saint fight back, earning laughs from you and your husband.

“Saint, what did you do?”

“But daddy I just told him he looks like balaur!”

both big f1 fan, one is a max verstappen stan and one is a lewis hamilton. Guess which is which lol

Don’t ever mention Abu Dhabi 2021. Civil war will start again fr

Kenji, is their favorite target. They love sneaking up on him, setting up elaborate traps, and watching him react.

If kenji kidnapped dior when she was a kid, the twins definitely kidnapped him for funsies

that parent and teachers meeting are HELL for the both of you

they are protective over dior !!

They are her #1 defender, protector, and fan

they are very clingy, had their “no daddy, she’s our mommy!” phase

They play princesses with their big sister !

they play Barbie with their make-up story line so much DRAMA

Does her hair actually

Whenever aaron kisses you they are blocked by them

If you and aaron have a little time together with dior (like in sweet dreams) then its worse with twins hovering over you and having your attention

He’s kinda getting antsy and pouty over that fact

“hey, she’s my wife before she’s your mother!”

“That’s my wife. Look! We are married!”

Your home has evolved into a maze of hidden pranks and booby traps. Aaron, often finds himself caught in it. (It was meant for him, anyways.)

Aaron and dior often blame the twins when they make a mistake (accidentally breaking your precious plants, the vase, one of your make up, eating your sweets and etc.)

When they were in elementary school and got into trouble and more trouble slipped that needed to be signed they hid it.

Saint had presented one slipped to sign and then he mastered yours and aaron’s signature to forge in the future.

but azrael on the other hand, never presented one and made a single new signature that could be either yours or his to present to the teacher.

But when they get into really bad trouble aaron will always ask you to wait for him so he can join the twins in one of your scolding sessions.

hubby 🤍

Hey, love, i just dropped off dior into her ballet class. How did the meeting go? I am on my way home.

you

Deep trouble. We are on the way home. Take care and drive safe, honey.

hubby 🤍

Thank you, love. Wait for me before you scold them, yeah? Love you.

you

Oh I don’t think so. They really did it this time. Love you too.

hubby 🤍

my love, my gorgeous wife, my sweet darling,

I know you are angry but please let me be there when you scold them, okay? You can scold us three together.

But don’t worry! They say sorry for making you a flower bouquet (courtesy of their big sis) and letters!

Menace on social media

SCARE AWAY POTENTIAL SUITOR FOR DIOR

Uno night is at war with them

Dior would drag the boys into one of her nature trip

Whenever your husband needs to make you forgive him he has the boys as his back up

like when he serenaded you they are in the background playing instrument

Dior handling you the flowers she made

they had a tantrum for not being in you and your husband’s wedding

You and Aaron agree to not tell them who is the first one to be born so there would be no superiority. Your husband told them once they turn 18

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[eldritch-spouse]

Currently you're sitting at a table with your master, waiting on your meal. You have complicated feelings on Nebul. He doesn't necessarily treat you badly, he takes care of you but that's because you've been cooperative, you've seen him less gentile…..

The chef walks on by dragging a man screaming and wailing. His eyes look searching for someone, until they fall on you.

“Help me!” He looks at you with pleading eyes. “He's going to kill me!”

You are no savior, you have no power here. You look down at your lap, hearing his cries for help become more and more distant. Dread and despair grows in your heart.

[I can write this out from his perspective.]

Nebul enjoys pets like you.

One might glance at him and think that perhaps the trainer would prefer a real brat. Someone who stomps their feet, bitches and whines and spits. The kind that just won't take it lying down and nearly breaks themself in their effort to be free of his controlled dominance.

But they'd be quite mistaken.

Nebul loves a pet who instantly recognizes their place. A darling thing like you, smart enough to realize that you have no chance of ever escaping intact, and thus, become subservient to your rightful master. You know Nebul will protect you, will provide for you, because you're learning to be the perfect pet he's training you into on a daily basis. There's something just insanely satisfying and obscenely arousing about your immediate submission to Nebul, he savors it slowly, preens you, makes sure you'll last him long.

Many were the tests you've been subtly subjected to since your time under his care. Some were elaborated to get a feel for your character, others for the amount of progress in obedience and loyalty you've developed. The undead quickly adjusts his methods depending on your performance, though you've been nothing if not stellar thus far. Very impressive, very good.

This moment is both another test and a reward. You have earned yourself time outside of the shop, time watching others, pretending to be a member of a community. Not that this particular community sees you as anything but a breathing toy, but he knows it's enough to bring a semblance of comfort to a contact-starved psyche like yours.

See, tonight you're having dinner at The Clergy's restaurant. And the place is quite packed, much to Nebul's distaste. His organism, unalive and magic-riddled, may not require food, but yours sure does. Nebul did take the care to make sure you will not be ingesting "human products", as he already ordered your meal a fair bit ago. Now, he's just making idle conversation and attentively mapping your reactions to seeing so many monsters ogling you like a steak. At certain times, it feels as if you want to sit next to him on the ground, where you have correctly learned is safest, and he glows with pride.

Many a client have stopped by and wordlessly pointed at you, every each one receiving a polite and consice explanation that you're not for sale or a free-use treat. He relishes the dread in your eyes, but even more so the relief. Gratitude that you had been picked by the wraith, and not some uncaring, sadistic entity looking to rip you open.

Yes, the sooner you understand how good you have it here, the sooner you'll drop silly ideas of escape and freedom.

Your rhythmic fidgeting with the silver tag of the collar around your neck is harshly interrupted by the sound of the closest elevator parting its doors, and a very angry monster stomping out, dragging a badly injured human man by medium-length hair.

Nebul senses the way your breath catches and a spike of adrenaline makes you pale, eyes wide, so tense you might pop.

He diverts his attention to Morell. The chef looks more than agitated, genuinely irate. It's not likely that the human actually managed to place a dent on that cinderblock of a monster, but it is a possibility that it outsmarted the chef in a moment of stressful workflow. And that, Nebul knows, will have the shroom smashing through furniture.

" Fuckin' pig! Ah was gonna make it smooth for ya, make it fast, ya wouldn' even feel much- "

The chef's apron is smeared with splatters of blood, what Nebul thinks might be some kind of sauce, and a decent chunk of dirt from the messy chase. The man, on the other hand, is bruised on the face and limbs, one hand bent at a bizarre angle and his ankles most definitely crudely twisted to a mockery of a ragdoll.

Even through the immense pain the undead can sense emanating from this human, the resilience commonly associated with this species shines clearly, as he screams and tries ever so hard to claw the mushroom monster's skin. Broken nails fail to so much as scratch the calloused pudge of his executioner's fingers, who are so tense around that mangled arm it might just explode.

He tries still, he tries, and will continue to for as long as his organism can supply a powerful dosage of adrenaline.

The mostly pointless squirming does succeed in one thing however, getting on Morell's nerves. Predictably, the chef turns around just enough to land a powerful steel-toed boot kick right to his middle, making the man wheeze like a dying animal. He seems to zone out for a moment, probably due to the immense pain wracking his body.

He doesn't zone out enough to miss you, the only other human present.

Nebul expected his frantic screaming, and he can't lie, part of the undead was looking forward to seeing how you'd react in a situation like this. Do you have any kind of wit in that cranium? It seems you do, because even when he's dragged by, pleading with all the remaining breath in his lungs for the help of his kin, for salvation only you can provide, you hardly react.

Aside from a light twitch of the limbs, as if you're trying to guiltily swat a mosquito away, you hang your head and focus on your intertwined hands on your lap. Your stare glazes, losing its alarmed quality, and your breathing becomes steady. You're effectively out of the scene.

Good.

Very good.

Morell makes an apology gesture towards the shopkeeper when he realizes that's the table he just walked past, eyes lingering on you with morbid curiosity before he slams the kitchen doors open and drags the drained human inside.

Nebul doesn't let you dissociate for too long. It's not the first time he's seen you do this, but he needs you quite present for this feedback. A grasp upon said clasped hands gets you to inhale sharply, shaking a bit. You glance at him with fear, as getting distracted in certain moments can earn you punishments.

" You've been performing exceptionally well. " He purrs. " With such exemplary behavior, you're on the fast track to perfection. Pets like you deserve rewards for their discipline, and you will get one once we're done eating. "

You nod hastily, fidgeting on your chair while you try hard to ignore the stains of blood on the floor.

Nebul's mist swirls playfully. " Now, what do we say? "

" I'm sorry, Master- Thank you, Master. "

" Very good. "

[aimbutmiss]

Cooking was a lot like sword fighting. There were rules, and a routine to follow to get better at it. But repetition alone wasn't enough to be good, you had to understand the fundamentals. Which ingredients go with what, and what combinations to avoid. Mihawk had a lot of time to study this back at his home in Kuraigana, cooking for the two kids that literally got delivered to him by a stork 20 years too late. Zoro loved his food, but didn't care much for the process, not that he had time to spare from his sword training. But Perona came into the kitchen to help him sometimes. She was more interested in baking, which was unknown terrain to Mihawk and kind of terrifying, because it was a lot easier to mess up.

He wrapped his arms around his black satin nightgown as he knelt slightly to check the oven. Thankfully, the bread had risen well. He got up and picked up some eggs to get started on an omelette as two men walked into the kitchen, one being dragged by the other.

"Good morning." The taller man grumbled under his breath as he threw the other man on one of the chairs. He was wearing green pyjama pants and no shirt, displaying his muscles and scars to the world. He sat down beside the sleeping clown and picked up the newspaper on the table, his hook ripping through the paper. But the man started reading as if it didn't phase him at all. It never did.

"Good morning to you as well. Slept well?"

"As well as I could."

Mihawk put the whisked eggs aside and walked over to his lover to give a chaste kiss to his lips.

"What about him?" He asked, pointing to Buggy who was quietly snoring and drooling on the table. He made a move to gently shake the clown but a hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him.

"Leave him be. He must be tired."

Mihawk lips curled slightly as he moved back to the kitchen counter to lightly butter a pan, while Crocodile's eyes fell back on the newspaper. A loud sizzle filled the quiet space as Mihawk poured the egg mixture into the hot pan.

"Straw Hat is wreaking havoc again."

"When is he ever not?"

"Your Zoro seems to be doing well too."

"Hm."

Plating the food was also an important part of the process, according to seasoned chefs. Mihawk didn't quite get it, but he tried to honor their code. He would be very angry if anyone broke the code of swordfighting, so he tried to apply the same respect to other art forms. He gently placed the grilled tomatoes on Crocodile's plate, none for Buggy of course. Instead he used some ketchup to draw a cute clown face on his omelette. It wasn't the best or anything, but Mihawk was very proud of it. He knew Buggy would love it too, the sentiment was there. He took the plates and walked over to the table, putting the food in front of his lovers.

"Buggy, darling, wake up."

Buggy groaned and whined as Mihawk gently poked him. "Stop it, Hawkyyyy."

"Just get up, clown. It's already quite late. You need to eat to get through the day. We have that business meeting with that old fart today, remember?"

Buggy finally lifted his head from the table, his hair all over the place, the bun he put it in last night barely holding it together. His lips were shiny with drool and his shirt was falling off his shoulder, probably because he stole it from one of them.

"I forgot about that... Do I have to, Croccy? You're the one who deals with business stuff!"

"Yes, you're right. You don't have to do a single business thing. All you have to do is sit down and look pretty."

"That's hard too! Sometimes! No one understands the struggles of being too hot and charismatic."

Crocodile put down the newspaper he was reading to finally start eating as Mihawk sat down with his own plate. "Just shut up and eat." He said in his low voice, but there was no bite to it. Not anymore. They had gotten through their differences, and grown.

Mihawk smiled as he took a bite from the food. It wasn't perfect, but it sure felt like it as he watched the other two men clearly enjoy his cooking. Two years ago today, he was probably sulking around in his mansion on Kuraigana. He would have never guessed back then, that he would end up where he is now.

Mihawk was a man of routine and rules, but this once he had to admit: Sometimes change is good.

@kittaykattz this is super short but hope you enjoy